


i'm the one who wants to be with you

by gilligankane



Series: you can tell everybody this is your song [32]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: 80's Music, F/F, Mixtape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-13 18:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14754105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: “I want to move out of my mom’s,” she finally says. She hasn’t said the words out loud much, not after New Year’s Eve. She’s been holding onto it for a few weeks, laying in bed at night and staring at the same ceiling she’s been staring at for almost twenty-three years.





	1. fate will twist the both of you

**Author's Note:**

> After the start of the New Year in 1994, Nicole is going to make some changes. And the first is getting out of her mom’s house. The second can only become a reality if the first thing happens, but she'll have to go backwards before she move forwards.
> 
> The 'T' warning applies to Side B.

**“To Be With You” Mr. Big, 1991  
** _ Why be alone when we can be together baby? You can make my life worthwhile; I can make you start to smile. _

“ _ Oh, Loverboy, to you I belong. _ ”

Nicole rolls her eyes and folds her copy of today’s  _ Ottawa Citizen _ back over to the cover page, her permanent marker stuck between the newsprint.

“ _ But maybe one day you'll wake and you'll find me gone, _ ” Mercedes continues to sing.

Nicole spins on her stool, leaning back against the counter. She shakes her head slowly as Mercedes gets closer, swaying her hips back and forth as she sings. A table of high school kids in the corner looks over. Nicole recognizes Gray Callahan, one of the boys that hangs around the garage and follows after Doc around like he’s a god in a cowboy hat. His little brother Fletch is next to him, eyes wide as they watch Mercedes walk. 

_ Blue Devils _ , Nicole thinks.  _ The new wave, under Doc’s tutelage.  _ She’ll admit that the Blue Devils aren’t as rough and tumble as they used to be. When she was younger, everything felt big and bad, but Doc has fine-tuned the path that Wyatt Aper started walking down: the Blue Devils have been more active in the community - helping out at park cleanups and keeping an eye on Revenants looking to cause trouble.

_ Jonas _ . Nicole scowls. If Doc has been transforming the Blue Devils for the better, then Jonas has been molding the Revenants into a problem. Vandalism, property destruction, petty theft. She’s nearly positive that the chatter she’s read on the CPIC about a small burst in drug charges has  _ something _ to do with the Revenants, but she’s working on building a case before she starts chasing a lead.

_ “But, Loverboy, if you call me home, I'll come driving. I'll come driving fast as wheels can turn,” _ Mercedes finishes, throwing her arms wide.

Something plastic clatters against the tiled floor, and Nicole looks up as Gray tries to grab his cup before it spins across the room. One of his friends laughs and grabs a wad of napkins from the dispenser, tossing them in his direction. The cup spins and spins, coming to a stop at Mercedes’s feet as it bounces against her heels. 

Mercedes leans over slowly, picking up the plastic cup between two fingers, holding it out at arm’s length. “Uh, boys,” she says slowly. “I think you dropped something.”

Gray moves across the room slowly, his feet heavy. “Th-thanks. Ma’am,” he adds, stumbling over the word.

Mercedes pops a hip to one side, her neon-pink painted hand resting on the waist of her jeans. “Oh, honey. I’m not old enough to be called ‘ma’am’.”

Gray nods, eyes wide. “O-okay.”

Mercedes smiles toothily. Gray stands there, his mouth open and his eyes wide. Mercedes lifts an eyebrow slowly. “Anything else?”

“No. No. I mean…” He takes a quick step back. “No.” He turns and hurries back to his booth, the other Blue Devils  _ ooh _ ing and  _ ahh _ ing as he sits down and ducks, hiding the blush on his face.

Nicole snorts as Mercedes climbs up onto the stool next to her. She spins back towards the counter, shaking her head. “Did you enjoy that?”

“Boys are so  _ easy _ ,” Mercedes sighs. “Were they always this easy?”

Nicole shrugs a shoulder. “How would I know?”

Mercedes narrows her eyes. “Point taken.” She reaches across Nicole’s arm, over her  _ Ottawa Citizen _ , and into the basket of fries Nicole had been picking at. “Thank God I have a  _ man _ now.”

Nicole doubles over, pretending to gag. “ _ Man _ is never a word I would ever use to talk about Nathan.”

“I have a whole list of words,” Mercedes says. She lifts a finger to start counting. “Sexy. Sma-”

Nicole sticks her fingers in her ears and hums “Do You Really Want To Hurt Me” until Mercedes rolls her eyes and flicks her in the forehead. She pulls a finger out of one ear and waits to make sure Mercedes won’t continue speaking.

“So, what’s up?” Mercedes asks.

Nicole thumbs the edge of the  _ Ottawa Citizen _ , her fingertips stained black from the permanent marker she’d been using this morning. She’s been checking the Classifieds for the last few days, but she doesn’t really know what she’s doing. 

“Call Mercedes,” Wynonna had said. “She knows all about that kind of junk.”

“You think she would?” Nicole asked.

Wynonna rolled her eyes. “For her boyfriend’s little sister?”

Nicole reached over and pinched the back of Wynonna’s arm. “Can it.”

“Mercedes and  _ Nathan _ kissing in a tree,” Wynonna sang, dancing away when Nicole reached out to swat at her.

“I want to move out of my mom’s,” she finally says. She hasn’t said the words out loud much, not after New Year’s Eve. She’s been holding onto it for a few weeks, laying in bed at night and staring at the same ceiling she’s been staring at for almost twenty-three years. 

“I know,” Mercedes says. She pats the large pocketbook on her shoulder.

Nicole blinks. “You do?”

“Nathan heard you talking to yourself in the bathroom,” Mercedes explains. “You were practicing telling your mom.”

Nicole groans and scratches at the back of her neck. “See? This is why I have to move out!”

Mercedes opens her purse and pulls out a stack of printed papers, dropping them on the counter in front of Nicole. “And, you know. There’s  _ nothing _ romantic about dating someone and living with your parents. Trust me,” she adds, muttering.

Nicole frowns. “Don’t you live at home with your parents?”

“Well, we’re not talking about me,” Mercedes says tightly. “Anyway, I had Daddy put aside his best listings - which weren’t much,” she admits with a grimace. “But, here.” She thumbs through them, pulling one out. “Harwood Street.”

“Bad crime rates,” Nicole says absently. She looks up when Mercedes doesn’t say anything, and frowns. “What?”

“Be a normal person for a minute and not a cop,” Mercedes says.

Nicole narrows her eyes. “I’m a cop all the time. It’s not like I can, I don’t know. Turn it off.”

Mercedes stares at her for another minute before she lifts her eyebrows suggestively. “So, do you always carry handcuffs?”

Nicole groans and spins off her stool, pulling her car keys out of her pocket and holding them up. “Come on. Let’s go look at places and pretend you never asked me that.”

“Because the answer is  _ yes _ ?” Mercedes asks as she follows Nicole across the diner.

 

-

It’s miss after miss. 

The first apartment on Harwood really is in the middle of a high crime area - there’s been a spike in transient people reported in the area, and people are starting to lock their doors at night. She doesn’t even go inside the house that’s renting the apartment; she knows the address and she’s not a favorite on this street.

There’s a place on the corner of Beech and Cypress, but the ceiling is coming down in the bathroom and Nicole won’t let Mercedes go inside. The one on Elm is on the third floor, and Nicole stands at the bottom of the rickety wooden stairs with a grimace on her face. It’s a long climb up and she’s slightly nauseous the whole time. The two-bedroom on Alden is nice, but Nicole doesn’t  _ feel _ anything when she walks in the door.

She’s not sure  _ what _ she wants to feel, but it’s something. And that apartment felt like nothing.

She sits in Mercedes’s 1990 Chrysler TC-02, the top up and the heat on, and sighs. “Another bust.”

Mercedes rolls her eyes. “We’ve looked at four apartments. Don’t be dramatic.” She pauses. “Sorry, I forgot who I was talking to for a minute.”

Nicole scowls across the car. “And what is this crap?” she asks, pointing at the radio.

“Top hits of today,” Mercedes says. “Ace of Base is in right now.”

“Is all that hairspray still in?” Nicole asks flatly.

Mercedes reaches over and pinches the back of Nicole’s arm. “Listen, Loverboy. I’m taking you apartment hunting on my day off, so shut up about my music. And my hairspray.”

“Your fire hazard,” Nicole mutters after a moment, the corner of her lips twitching.

Mercedes snorts. “You think  _ this _ is bad? You should see Beth. She goes through a whole bottle a week. I don’t know why,” she adds with a grimace. “It’s not like Jonas is even paying attention.”

Nicole makes a face. “They’re still together?”

“Disgustingly so,” Mercedes says. “I think he’s just hanging around to keep seeing me, to be honest.”

A cold feeling dances across the back of Nicole’s neck. “You think?”

Mercedes shrugs a shoulder. “He comes over sometimes when Beth isn’t there and just, like, won’t leave. It’s not a big deal,” she adds, noticing the look on Nicole’s face. “So don’t get your underwear in a twist.” She pauses. “Do you wear underwear?”

Nicole groans and drops her head forward into her hands. “Mercedes,” she sighs.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for you to say my name like that?” Mercedes winks when Nicole looks up, and then reaches into the backseat, her body twisting over the console. “Alright, I have one more for right now. It’s the beginning of the year, so apartments will pop up pretty quickly as people break their leases.” She hands Nicole a flyer.

It’s a clean-looking house on a good street - Nicole patrols it pretty frequently, and she knows it’s a high-traffic area. There’s a long driveway in the small, grainy picture, and the written information says its a second-floor apartment with access to the backyard.

Mercedes puts the car in drive and hits the gas, her car rocketing forward.

Nicole drops the flyer, bracing a hand against the dashboard. “Who taught you how to drive?”

“I taught myself,” Mercedes says proudly. She takes a corner, and Nicole feels the cool window against her shoulder as her whole body rocks. “I watched a lot of Herbie movies.”

Nicole bites down on her bottom lip and curses her decision to wear a Rush t-shirt under her black and white flannel today; if she dies, this is the outfit she’ll have to wear for the rest of her life. Mercedes brakes, and Nicole’s body pitches forward. Her driving before wasn’t  _ great _ , but it wasn’t this  _ bad _ . She should have called Waverly before she left, to tell her she loved her one last time.

_ Oh _ , she thinks for a moment.  _ Is this what they mean when they call me dramatic? _

Mercedes makes a sharp turn into a driveway, the one in the picture on the flyer that’s somewhere on the floorboards of Mercedes car, tangled in the empty hairspray bottles there. Nicole pulls at the seatbelt that’s tight across her chest and takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

Ace of Base is still playing, and Nicole feels like she might projectile vomit like in  _ The Exorcist _ .

Mercedes gets out of the car as the back door of the house opens. An older woman, one Nicole vaguely recognizes from their high school field trip to Purgatory’s very small historical museum, steps out onto the top step and shields her eyes against the cold sunlight. 

_ Ms. Rachel, or Ms. Rebecca _ , Nicole thinks as she gets out of the car and follows Mercedes up the driveway. 

“Hi, Ms. Ruthie,” Mercedes calls.

_ Ms. Ruthie _ , Nicole says to herself.  _ Right. Ruthie Hunter _ .

“Well, hey there, Ms. Gardner.” Ms. Ruthie calls. 

“Mercedes,” Mercedes corrects. “Please.”

Ms. Ruthie smiles at them as they get closer. “Alright, then. Come to show the place again?”

Mercedes nods. “I’m determined to find someone to fill it.”

“Oh, I don’t mind the quiet. Gets a bit lonely,” Ms. Ruthie admits. “But I’ve got a friend, Mr. Hamel, who lives below a bunch of Revenants, and he never gets any sleep.”

Mercedes makes a sympathetic noise and steps to the side, swinging an arm out to gesture in Nicole’s direction. “How about a cop, then?”

Nicole lifts a hand, embarrassed. “Ma’am.”

Ms. Ruthie narrows her eyes, studying Nicole. “I don’t like to be called ma’am.”

“Of course not, ma’am,” Nicole says quickly. She winces. “I mean, Ms. Ruthie.”

Ms. Ruthie’s face breaks into a wide smile. “Much better.” She sticks a hand out.

Nicole takes it, shaking it gently. “Nicole Haught.”

Ms. Ruthie holds onto her hand for another moment. “Joan’s girl?”

“Yes, ma-” Nicole stops herself. “Yes.”

Ms. Ruthie lets go of her hand. “I like Joan. She’s a hard worker.”

“So is Nicole,” Mercedes jumps in. “She’s a cop, and word has it, Nedley is grooming her to take over when he retires.”

“Mercedes,” Nicole warns.

“And her girlfriend, Waverly Earp, is-”

Ms. Ruthie’s eyes light up. “Oh,  _ you’re _ Waverly’s girl?”

Something warm and bright bursts in Nicole’s chest, lighting up every nerve-ending.  _ Waverly’s girl _ , she thinks.  _ I’m Waverly’s girl _ . It’s been over four years, and it still feels so new. She gets to kiss Waverly whenever she wants. She gets to reach for her hand at The Patch and hold it in between the sugar container and the ketchup. She gets to pick her up for long weekends in Purgatory and whisper ‘ _ I love you’ _ over the phone on the nights they have to be apart.  _ Because I’m her girl _ , Nicole thinks.  _ And she’s mine _ .

“Yeah, yeah,” Mercedes mutters. “It’s all romance and rainbows. Barf.”

Ms. Ruthie ignores Mercedes. “I’ve always liked Waverly. Shows a real interest in the historical society.”

“She’s in school to become a history teacher,” Nicole offers.

Ms. Ruthie smiles proudly. “Well, of course she is. Has an eye for history, doesn’t she? It’s not something everyone is good at, you know. History is about much more than reciting dates. It’s about finding the small pieces of stories and weaving them together to create a larger moment. Purgatory was founded in 1717, you know. And the official list of founders shows Berry Stapp and Nicholas Porter and Andy Cooksey, but do you know how Purgatory got its name?”

Nicole glances at Mercedes. She’s sure Waverly probably told her at some point - they did a small  _ Purgatory: Our Town _ unit in social studies when she was in middle school, but Waverly had done most of her and Wynonna’s work.

“Well, three months went by and Berry Stapp’s wife was tired of those men arguing about naming their new town. Each of them wanted it to be named after themselves - Stapp, Porter, Cooksey,” Ms. Ruthie explains.

Nicole makes a face. “Cooksey.”

“Ridiculous, isn’t it?” Ms. Ruthie asks. “Those history curriculums they teach only tell you that, eventually, they settled on Purgatory. The truth of it is, Stapp’s wife got so fed up with those men that she declared the town should be named  _ Purgatory _ . ‘We’re all just waiting here to die, aren’t we?’ she asked of them. ‘And we’re going to die waiting for you to make up your minds.’”

“Really?” Nicole asks, glancing at Mercedes.

“The honest-to-goodness truth,” Ms. Ruthie says, nodding her head. “That’s something they  _ won’t _ teach you. Because history hates women and because a man didn’t come up with the idea.” She snorts. “You know that the hack of a history teacher at the high school wanted me to change the annals at the historical society and credit Stapp with the idea to name the town?”

Nicole scowls. “Cryderman is a-”

“He’s a prick,” Ms. Ruthie says plainly.

Mercedes coughs loudly, hiding her laugh.

“Boy used to snoop around the historical society when we first opened up, twisting his history lessons into what he wanted them be to.” Ms. Ruthie folds her arms over her chest. “I told him to go become a writer instead.” The hard look on her face fades. “But Waverly. Waverly loved hearing about Persis Stapp, Berry’s wife. She loved hearing the threads of the story that form that larger picture.”

Nicole swallows hard, her heart pounding hard against her chest. She loves talking about Waverly, bragging about her. But listening to someone else do it makes her stomach tighten and her whole body hum.

Ms. Ruthie smiles. “Well, that’s a long-winded way of saying I hope you’re the new tenant.”

“Right!” Mercedes says loudly, holding up a ring of keys. “Let’s go look at it and see.” 

Ms. Ruthie nods. “You just come on down when you’re done and say goodbye, okay?”

Nicole follows Mercedes in through a back door and up a set of stairs. She pauses at the top, looking down at the generic, straw mat on the floor in front of a heavy door. Mercedes unlocks it after a minute and steps in, sweeping her arm out. 

Nicole knows before she even steps into the apartment that it’s the right one. The front room is big and there’s a window that stretches the length of one wall. There are two doors off of the room - one leading into a kitchen and the other to the bedroom.

“It’s only a one-bedroom,” Mercedes says, frowning a little. “But the backyard would be yours, and Ms. Ruthie doesn’t make a lot of noise.”

“It’d just be me for a bit,” Nicole says absently, walking around the apartment. She can see where a couch would go, and her framed  _ Rolling Stone _ Curtis and Gus got her for Christmas years ago. She can picture her stereo along the wall, and a new TV set - the one at Sears she’s been saving for - in front of where the couch would go. 

“Well?” Mercedes asks.

Nicole doesn’t hear her, walking through to the kitchen and standing in the middle of the room. She can see where they would put a kitchen table, one they picked out together at the secondhand store in the city. She can see sitting on the counter in the early morning, drinking her coffee and making breakfast. She can see a small radio on one side, playing songs they can dance to while they cook.

“It’s perfect,” she says to Mercedes, passing by her to look at the bedroom.

She can see early Sunday mornings in a bed they argue over. She can see all of her jeans hanging in the closet in sharp, crisp lines, and Waverly’s dresses mixed in with her flannels. She can picture Waverly sitting up, sheets pooled around her waist, beckoning her back to bed for just a little longer.

She can see  _ a life _ here.

Mercedes whistles low, wincing.

“What?” Nicole asks.

Mercedes holds out the flyer and Nicole scans it, eyes narrowing in on the monthly rent at the bottom. She must have had her hand over it earlier; there’s no way she can afford that on her own.

_ Waverly is in school still, and she doesn’t have a job yet _ , Nicole thinks.  _ I wouldn’t ask her to pay rent, either, until she moves in. _

For a fleeting moment, she wonders if Waverly even wants to live with her. She shakes it off as quickly as it comes and sighs, eyes on that number again.

“I can’t afford that,” she says miserably.

Mercedes is giving her a sympathetic smile. “I should have looked at it before I dragged you down here.”

Nicole quickly shakes her head. “No, no.” She looks around and sighs. “It’s good. Now I know what I’m looking for, you know.”

“I’m still sorry,” Mercedes says quietly. She reaches for Nicole’s shoulder, squeezing it softly. “Listen, though. It’s been empty for months. Maybe in a little while, when Waverly comes home and gets a job, you can rent the place. Between your paycheck and hers, it might work, and then you’ll have, like, the nicest apartment in Purgatory.”

“Yeah,” Nicole echoes.

“Waverly will love it, too,” Mercedes continues, guiding her towards the door. “I mean, how could she not?”

Nicole smiles tightly.  _ How could she not _ echoes in her mind. Nicole has been thinking about that, too, lately; about Waverly coming home and what happens next. A part of her wants to have an apartment like this  _ now _ , one she can show off to Waverly. Something she can use to say,  _ look. Look at this life we can have in Purgatory _ . She remembers going out for Waverly’s 21st birthday and how the city was so big; how it had so many things that Purgatory didn’t have - bars and lights and noise and crowds. She remembers how Waverly was so at ease there, under different neon lights, and how her stomach turned over and over until she had to go outside to get some air.

She remembers thinking that Waverly looked so happy, so at  _ home _ , in the city, and it scared her.

Nicole is smart, sharp. Waverly’s getting glowing review after glowing review from her student teaching supervisors and the city has more historical buildings than there are shops on Main Street in Purgatory. There’s museums and three high schools and Waverly is making connections with the kind of people that don’t even remember Purgatory is a place on the map. 

_ What does Purgatory have _ ? a voice that sounds like her father’s asks.

Her chest tightens at the thought. _Me_ , her own voice shouts back. _Wynonna, when she’s around. Gus and Chrissy and Rosita and Doc and everyone else._ _Her life_.

_ But she can call, can’t she? _ her dad’s voice comes.  _ She can visit. The city is full of life and Purgatory is dying _ , the voice says, morphing into Wynonna’s.  _ There’s nothing here. We’re all just waiting to die _ . 

A hand on her shoulder startles her. She’s reaching for a hostler she’s not wearing before she blinks and focuses on Mercedes’s face. “Sorry,” she mumbles. She shakes her head. “Sorry.”

Ms. Ruthie is back out on her steps when they come out of the building, smiling hopefully. “Well? When’re you moving in?”

Nicole puts on a wider smile. “When I make about double what I make now.”

“I’ll put in a call to Nedley, if you’d like,” Ms. Ruthie offers.

Nicole laughs. “No, that’s okay.” She looks back up at the window that she knows sits in the living room of her dream apartment. “Someday,” she says wistfully.

Mercedes hooks a thumb over her shoulder. “I’m gonna get in the car, warm it up. I’ll drive you back to The Patch?” she asks.

Nicole pushes her hands into her pocket, the tips of her fingers starting to ache form the cold. “Might as well. I’ve got nothing else to do today.”

Mercedes frowns. “What about Wynonna?"

“Class,” Nicole says.

“Doc?”

Nicole shakes her head. “Janice Goslin ran her station wagon into Old Man Pollard’s Chevy last night, out on the town line. He and Rosita are knee-deep in bumpers and fenders.”

Mercedes wrinkles her nose. “Anyone else? Chrissy or Perry or Dolls and Jeremy?”

Nicole counts off on her fingers. “Bank, work, and Dolls and Jeremy haven’t really surfaced since New Years Eve. If you know what I mean.” 

Mercedes fights off a grin. “I saw them at the drugstore the other day. They looked…  _ cozy _ .” She says ‘cozy’ like it’s a dirty word, and Nicole shudders. 

She smiles tightly at Mercedes as she checks her watch. “And Waverly is right in the middle of student teaching, so… The Patch it is,” she says, her voice forced and cheery.

She’s happy that Wynonna is in school and that Doc is busy at the garage. Waverly is so close to getting her degree and everyone is doing something with their lives, but it makes her days off long and lonely. She spends most of them at The Patch, sitting at the counter, reading over crime stats she’s printed from the CPIC or redacted cold case files, counting down the minutes until Wynonna comes back, lugging a stack of books and giving Nicole a look that says, ‘ _ call me a dweeb and I’m going to give you a wedgie _ .’

“Sounds lonely,” Ms. Ruthie says.

They both watch Mercedes walk cautiously down the driveway. There’s a thin layer of frost everywhere that makes the concrete slick.

“A little,” Nicole admits.

Ms. Ruthie continues to stare at her, tapping a finger to her chin thoughtfully. “You know, I know a woman in Edmonton, runs a branch of their library up there. She’s got a German Shepherd, Lady, who just gave birth to a whole litter and she’s looking to find them homes.”

_ Waverly always wanted a dog _ , is Nicole’s first thought.

Her second is that she doesn’t work the right hours for a dog. What’ll she do when she’s on an overnight shift? Waverly isn’t back for a few months and that wouldn’t be fair to a dog, right?

Her third thought is that Ms. Ruthie said  _ German Shepherd _ and Rin Tin Tin was a German Shepherd and having her own would be  _ clutch _ .

“They’re 6 weeks, now. Won’t be able to go home until 8,” Ms. Ruthie continues. “But I can give you her number and address, and you can give her a call and let her know you’re coming to take a look at them, if you’d like.”

Nicole hesitates for a moment, but nods slowly. “Okay,” she says. “That would be nice.”

“Give me a minute, then,” Ms. Ruthie says, going back up the steps and into the house. The heavy door closes behind her, but Nicole can feel the heat bustling out of the apartment in a heavy gust. For a moment, it warms her.

She looks back over her shoulder at Mercedes, waiting in the car. She’s got her hands cupped around the vents, soaking in the manufactured hot air. Nicole holds up a hand, an  _ I’ll be right there _ , but Mercedes waves her off and turns up the radio until Nicole can hear the opening bass of “The Sign” pulsing hard from the car speakers. Nicole wrinkles her nose just as the back door opens again, and Ms. Ruthie climbs down the stairs cautiously, a piece of folded paper in her hand. 

“Here you are, girl,” Ms. Ruthie says, passing it over. “You give her a call and tell her that Ruthie Hunter vouched for you.”

Nicole smiles crookedly. “You don’t really know me, though.”

“I know your mom,” Ms. Ruthie says. “And I know Purgatory stock. You’re one of the good ones. It’s in the eyes.”

Nicole looks down. “Well, I appreciate it.”

“Think about it,” Ms. Ruthie says. “And hopefully I’ll see you soon.” She heads inside, giving Nicole one last smile before the door slams shut behind her. 

Nicole hustles down the sidewalk, rubbing at her hands and blowing into them as she sits down in the passenger seat of Mercedes’s car. The Ace of Base song loops around again, and Nicole groans, twisting the dial to turn the volume down. Mercedes scowls at her, but doesn’t do anything about it, pulling out of the driveway.

Nicole stares up at the house as they go past it, trying not to get too disappointed. There are other apartments in town - the nice ones aren’t anything she can afford, but maybe the ones on Harwood aren’t that bad after all.  _ Jonas has an apartment over there _ , she remembers. She scowls and dismisses the idea. She taps her fingers against the dashboard as Mercedes whips through Purgatory, her car hovering at the speed limit.

“Is your speedometer calibrated?” she asks as the car slides around a corner.

Mercedes grins and slaps the steering wheel. “Ha! Wynonna owes me a month of milkshakes.”

Nicole frowns. “What?”

“I bet Wynonna you would say something so  _ totally _ Five-O about my car,” Mercedes says. “I thought we’d go the whole damn day without you acting like a Roller. But I can always count on you, can’t I, Loverboy?”

“I can’t believe you guys-” She cuts off abruptly as Mercedes’s back end fishtails on a patch of ice. They careen across the dividing, faded yellow line that runs down Main Street. 

Mercedes jerks the wheel the opposite direction and the car straightens out, gliding the last few feet in front of The Patch. Nicole can’t hear the radio or the words coming out of Mercedes’s mouth over the sound of the blood roaring in her ears. Her hands ache and she looks down, realizing that she’s dug her fingernails a quarter inch deep into the soft leather dashboard.

“I should write you a ticket,” she finally breathes out. 

“For what?” Mercedes asks.

Nicole shakes her head. “Reckless driving. Bad taste in music.  _ Something _ .”

Mercedes rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. Get out of my car, would you? I’ve got to get down to the factory. I promised Haughtstuff Jr. that I’d bring him some lovin’ for lunch.”

Nicole gags loudly. “First of all, you-” She blinks. “You call him Haughtstuff  _ Jr _ .?”

Mercedes’s eyes sparkle. “It drives him  _ crazy _ .” She bites down on her bottom lip and looks up at Nicole through her eyelashes. “If you know what I mean.”

“I wish I didn’t,” Nicole grumbles. She exhales loudly, blowing air in a thin stream between her lips. Her fingers curl around the release on the door and she pushes it open. 

Mercedes grabs her arm, stopping her. “What about my goodbye kiss?”

Nicole rolls her eyes and slips out of Mercedes’s hold, holding out her middle finger. “Kiss this,” she mutters, smiling.

Mercedes laughs loudly, the noise bright in the cold air. “With pleasure.”

Nicole kicks the door shut and steps back onto the sidewalk, watching Mercedes drive away. She shakes her head, the air biting at her cheeks, and dips into the warmth of The Patch. It smells like onion rings and oiled stool seats and  _ home _ . There’s something soft on the jukebox - there usually is at midday when the place is quiet and Gus has her inventory lists spread out on the counter. It’s music Curtis liked - the early Stevie Nicks years of Fleetwood Mac, some Eagles, Jackson Browne, and Eric Clapton. 

Gus says it helps her focus; that it makes her feel close to Curtis. The first time she had put it on, after The Patch finally reopened and Curtis had been gone for a week, after the bruises around Nicole’s cheek were a dark yellow, Wynonna had disappeared again. Nicole finally found her in the Easy Listening section of Mattie’s, sitting on the floor under the rickety tables with some cassette tapes,  _ Property of Curtis McCready _ scribbled on the inside of each one. Mattie brought them cans of Orange Crush, and put Fleetwood Mac’s  _ Mirage _ cassette in the big stereo at the front of the store, and let them lay on the floor under the James Brown poster until closing time.

Gus looks up now as Nicole ducks inside, and waves her over, clearing a small spot of the counter. She’s already reaching for a glass. She fills it to the top with ice and then adds Orange Crush, topping it off with a straw.

“Better make it a double,” Nicole sighs.

Gus raises an eyebrow, but reaches under the counter for a second glass. She fills it, ice and Orange Crush, and puts it down next to Nicole’s first glass. “Want me to put in an order of french fries, if you’re throwing yourself a pity party?”

Nicole thinks it over, but shakes her head. Her stomach is still rocking side to side after being in Mercedes’s car and she’s not sure if she can keep down greasy, fried food.

“It didn’t go well,” Gus guesses.

“I either have to start moonlighting at the bank, working security, to afford the  _ perfect _ apartment,” Nicole says miserably. “Or, I have to be satisfied with living in the middle of Revenant territory.”

Gus snorts. “That Holliday boy would never forgive you.”

“The motorcycles, the parties,” Nicole complains. “I’m already out there enough on reports from the Neighborhood Watch. I don’t want to  _ live _ there, too.”

Gus peers at her, eyes narrowed curiously. “You know,” she starts. She pauses, pursing her lips. “You know that there’s an apartment above us, don’t you?”

Nicole frowns. “Well, yeah. It’s storage.”

Gus waves a hand at her. “It’s a bunch of boxes we put together when the girls moved in and we had to convert those guest spaces into their bedrooms.” She laughs lightly. “Hell. I don’t even know what’s  _ in _ those boxes. They’re just up there, collecting dust.”

“There’s a bunch of Curtis’s old rodeo trophies,” Nicole says casually. She looks up from her soda when Gus doesn’t say anything. She shrugs. “Wynonna and I spent a lot of time up there,” she admits.

What she doesn’t admit is all the time Wynonna and Doc spent up there, back in high school when  _ that Holliday boy _ was a swear word they couldn’t say in front of Gus. She doesn’t tell Gus that sometimes she would sneak Waverly up there and they would sit on the sturdier boxes and Waverly would read the newest copy of  _ Rolling Stone _ , when they needed to get away from Wynonna and Gus arguing all the time.

Gus hums thoughtfully. “Well, if you help me clean it out, it’s yours.”

“What?” Nicole asks.

“It’s yours,” Gus repeats. “You’ll pay rent, obviously. But we’ll work something out.” She narrows her eyes. “You  _ do _ want to move out of your mom’s, right?”

Nicole nods firmly. “More than anything.” She pauses. “Well, almost more than anything. What I  _ really _ want is for Waverly to-”

“Okay,” Gus says, cutting her off. “So, we’ll work out a price. You help me move the boxes out, and the place is yours.”

“Okay,” Nicole says, eyes wide in awe.  _ My own place _ , she thinks.  _ Right above one of my favorite places in the world _ .

“And I’ll need references,” Gus adds.

Nicole’s mouth drops open. “B-but,” she sputters. “But you’ve known me practically  _ my whole life _ .”

“And you still can’t take my jokes,” Gus says, shaking her head in mock disappointment.

“I could if they were funny,” Nicole mutters.

Gus raises an eyebrow, but looks back down at her inventory lists.

Nicole chews on her bottom lip, the scrap of paper Ms. Ruthie gave her burning through her pocket.  _ You’ll never know if you never ask _ , she reminds herself.

“What about a dog?” Nicole asks nervously.

Gus narrows her eyes, looking over the top of her glasses - the ones she wears when she’s working on the books. “A dog?”

Nicole shrugs, going for casual. “Ms. Hunter, from the historical society, gave me the name of a lady in Edmonton who has German Shepherd puppies and she’s trying to find them homes.”

Gus leans forward on the counter. “And you want a dog?”

“If I find the right one,” Nicole says. “It’d have to…” She shrugs. “I don’t know. If it’s the right dog, I’ll know when I see it. But, yeah. Yeah, I want one.”

Gus continues to stare at her, eyes narrowing into tight slits. “It’ll have to be house-trained.”

“Of course,” Nicole says quickly.

“And not a barker.”

Nicole makes a note to ask the lady in Edmonton about dog training classes.

“Can’t have the beast scaring away my customers,” Gus grumbles. She nods slowly. “But, fine. A dog is fine.”

Nicole grins widely, her hand clenched into a fist of victory. She presses it tight against her thigh, trying to contain herself.  _ A dog _ . She can get a  _ dog _ .

“You won’t regret it,” she promises Gus.

Gus snorts. “You best make sure I don’t, girl.”

Nicole nods firmly, reaching for a napkin from the dispenser and pulling a pen out of her pocket. She starts to scribble down some thoughts:  _ dog training, go to Edmonton, call Waverly _ . She hears Gus sigh and then a slight ripping noise. A piece of scratch paper is pushed under her nose and when she looks up, Gus is giving her the same look usually reserved for Wynonna: a mix of exasperation and adoration, masked by annoyance.

“And,” Gus says sharply, catching Nicole’s attention before she looks back down at her list. “One more thing. And this is non-negotiable, so don’t you even think about trying to convince me otherwise.  _ Or _ using Waverly to do it.” She makes sure Nicole nods. “That dog goes nowhere near my kitchen, is never in my dining room, and doesn’t bother my customers. You hear me?”

Nicole lifts a hand, three fingers raised with her thumb and pinky curled in. “Scout’s honor,” she promises. “You’ll never even know I  _ have _ a dog.”

Gus rolls her eyes. “You weren’t even a Scout, girl."

 

-

Wynonna reaches for the radio dial as soon as they hit the town line.

Nicole smacks her hand, right across the knuckles, grinning when Wynonna yelps and cradles her hand to her chest. “Don’t touch it,” she warns. “It’s the  _ Built for Speed  _ mixtape.”

Wynonna scowls at her. “If I knew you weren’t even going to let me pick a single song,” she says, “I wouldn’t have come.”

“I told you,” Nicole says, eyes on the road. “Three times. I made you repeat the road trip rule back to me.”

Wynonna frowns. “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

“You did,” Nicole insists. “Remember? Waverly was on the phone and she was talking about Eliza and Earl having…” She trails off. “You know.”

“They were boinking  _ everywhere _ ,” Wynonna whispers loudly. “I totally remember that.”

“Of course,  _ that’s _ what you remember,” Nicole mumbles.

“Hey,” Wynonna says, turning so that she’s sitting sideways on the front bench seat. Nicole shoves at her leg until it’s back on the floor. “Who do you think is bo-”

“Don’t say boinking,” Nicole pleads.

“ _ Boinking _ more?” Wynonna continues over her. “Me and Doc, Mercedes and Nathan, Dolls and Jeremy, or Eliza and Earl?”

Nicole takes one hand off the wheel, sticking her finger in her ear. “I can’t hear you,” she says loudly. 

Wynonna’s lips twitch. “I said,” she starts, raising her voice. “Who do you think-”

Nicole cranks the volume up until she can feel the bass line moving the whole car.

“ _ We're on a road to nowhere. Come on inside. Taking that ride to nowhere. We'll take that ride, _ ” Talking Heads goes on. 

The whole rest of the way down Highway 63, every time Wynonna brings up sex, Nicole turns the music up so loud that her ears bleed anyway. Nicole sighs as they pass a sign that reads ‘Edmonton, 88 km’.  _ Thank god it’s the middle of the week and there’s no traffic _ , is the only thought she has before David Bryne’s voice swallows the rest of them up.

It’s been a week since Ms. Ruthie gave her the number for the lady in Edmonton; a week of phone calls with Waverly, dancing around trying to tell her about the dog idea. She told her about moving above The Patch and had to pull the phone away from her ear when Waverly squealed, but she hesitated about the dog. 

What if Waverly decided that the  _ idea _ of a dog was better than actually  _ having  _ a dog? Sure, she’d always wanted one. Sure, she thought every dog they passed was adorable, and she once brought home a stray and fed it all of Curtis’s bologna. But it would be  _ their _ dog; they would be in this  _ together _ .

Nicole had already fallen in love with the idea. A German Shepherd, a real police dog. She already had a small list of names ready: Blue, Charger, Colombo. 

“A dog,” Waverly repeated when Nicole finally mentioned it last night.

“A dog,” Nicole echoed.

Waverly was quiet for a moment. “What kind of dog?” 

“German Shepherd,” Nicole said. She toed at the peeling baseboard in her mother’s kitchen; she’d had to fix that before she left. “You know. Like Rin-”

“Tin Tin,” Waverly finished. “I remember that show.”

“I can do all the work,” Nicole rushed. “I can walk it and feed it and handle all the veterinary appointments.”

Waverly laughed softly, the sound loosening the knot in Nicole’s chest. “Baby,” she said gently. “Of course I want a dog with you.”

“You do?” Nicole asked, her voice small.

“A dog,” Waverly said again. “It sounds so grown-up. Getting a dog together, living together.”

Something warm spread through her chest and up to her fingertips, wrapped tightly around the receiver. “You wanna… You wanna move into the apartment with me?”

Waverly was quiet again. “Don’t you want me to-”

“Of course I do,” Nicole said quickly, wincing at the volume of her voice. “Of  _ course _ I do. We just… We haven’t talked. About what comes next.”

“When I graduate,” Waverly said needlessly.

“When you graduate.”

“I don’t know,” Waverly sighed. “I don’t know what jobs I’ll be offered, or where. But I  _ do _ know that I want to live with you, and our dog, and that part of my plan is non-negotiable.”

Nicole snorted. “Every part of your plans have always been non-negotiable.”

“You’re the only one I would have reconsidered terms for,” Waverly admitted. She took a deep breath. “Listen, go to Edmonton tomorrow. Take Wynonna, or something. I know you’ll find the perfect dog, okay? And move into the apartment. It’s only January. We have forever until we have to figure out where to go from here.”

_ Months _ , Nicole wanted to say.  _ We have months _ . Instead, she hummed an ‘okay’ and asked Waverly about the kids in her student teaching class, the ones who stuck mustard-and-ham sandwiches on the ceiling in the cafeteria, and about Eliza’s big senior project, and what Waverly was going to do for her end-of-the-year assignment, laughing when she mentioned something about Big-Nose Kate. Doc had done a project years ago on her when he realized Big-Nose Kate knew his great-great-grandfather.

Wynonna smacks her in the shoulder and Nicole winces, glaring hard at her.

“What?”

“You had that stupid look on your face,” Wynonna says.

“What stupid look?”

“The stupid one that says, ‘I love Waverly  _ sooooo _ much’,” she sings. “ _ That _ stupid look.”

“Why did I invite you again?” Nicole grumbles. 

Wynonna holds up a hand, counting off fingers. “Because you love me. Because I’m a good bargainer.”

“We’re not bargaining,” Nicole says, frowning.

“Because I bring the good snacks.”

Nicole rolls her eyes. “You didn’t bring anything.”

“And because you said you’d test me on vocabulary words for my test next week,” Wynonna finishes, her voice hesitant. She holds up a stack of index cards, waving them around.

“I’ll even quiz you on those words you’re having a hard time with”, Nicole had promised last night when Wynonna stalled. “It won’t be like however Doc helps you study, but I got you through high school, didn’t I?”

“Doc strips,” Wynonna said, wiggling her eyebrows. “But trust me, I already know what’s under your hood.”

Nicole rolled her eyes and kicked the milk crate out from under Wynonna. 

“Right,” Nicole says, reaching for them. She drops them in her lap, picking up a single card and holding it against the steering wheel, behind the shield of her hand so that Wynonna can’t see it. “Purgatory, Alberta.  _ Ottawa _ , 28 May 1979. Let people-”

“Oh, no,” Wynonna interrupts. “Other side.”

Nicole frowns, turning the card over. “Recip-” She stops, turning the card over again. “Is this from the library?”

“No,” Wynonna says unconvincingly.

Nicole groans. “Wynonna, did you steal these from the card catalogue?”

“No,” Wynonna repeats. She looks away, out of the passenger window. “I mean, they were just sitting there. No one was using them.”

“They’re  _ supposed _ to just sit there,” Nicole says. “That’s their purpose.”

Wynonna shrugs a shoulder “Then they should put up a sign somewhere.”

Nicole sighs and turns the card back to the vocabulary word. “Reciprocity.”

They get through Wynonna’s whole stack of cards three times before Nicole pulls into the Edmonton city limits. The house isn’t hard to find, right in the heart of the city. Wynonna whistles low as they pull into the driveway.

“That’s a big house.”

There’s a German Shepherd statue sitting on the front steps, and when Nicole rings the doorbell, she can hear the soft  _ yip yip _ coming from behind the door. A woman about Ms. Ruthie’s age opens the door, a leg out to stop the puppies pushing towards the cold air.

“Nicole?” she asks.

“Ms. Hartman.” Nicole looks down, grinning as a small German Shepherd sniffs at her boots and is knocked over by a second one. 

Ms. Hartman waves them in. “Please, call me Lucille. Or Lucy. Ruthie told me you’re a police officer.”

Nicole puffs her chest out a little, straightening her shoulders. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And that you’d call me ma’am,” Lucille continues. “I’ll tell you the same thing she told you. No ma’am in my house.”

“Understood,” Nicole says, smiling. “This is my best friend, Wynonna.”

Lucille shakes Wynonna’s hand. “You can see a part of the litter here,” she says, pointing at the three puppies playing at their feet. “There’s nine in total. My girl, Lady, gave birth to 10 but one didn’t make it. The rest are in the back. Come on, come on.”

Wynonna leans in close as they’re walking down the long hallway to the back of the house. “Do you think if I start reciting your silly Roller speech, that the puppies would all stand at attention?”

Nicole scowls. “First of all, it’s called the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, Section 10. And second of all…” She trails off. “That would be super cool,” she admits.

Wynonna pumps a fist in victory. “Knew it.”

“Now, a few are spoken for,” Lucille tells them as they walk into a sunroom. “Those three at the door are going to homes. But I have four in here that are still looking.”

An older German Shepherd -  _ Lady _ , Nicole thinks - is lounging in the corner of the room under a sunny window. Puppies are moving around, knocking into each other and dragging toys around. One puppy falls into a large bowl of food, spreading it all over the floor. 

“That one,” Lucille says, pointing at a puppy nipping at Lady’s front paws. “And those two.” She points at two in the middle of the room, playing tug of war with a piece of tied rope.

Nicole snorts as one of the bigger puppies tackles the small one, easily rolling it over. She frowns. “You said you had four?”

Lucille gives her a soft smile. “Runt is the last one.”

“Runt?” Nicole asks.

Lucille nods and points at Lady. Buried under her front paws, there’s a small snout.  _ That’s what the other puppy had been nipping at _ . “I don’t like to give them names, that’s their owner’s job. But I call him Runt. He was the 10th puppy born, and the smallest.”

Wynonna kneels down, playing keep-away with one of the puppies.

Nicole takes a few cautious steps forward, watching Lady’s reactions. Lady lifts her head, eyes following her motions. “Hey there,” she says softly. “Hi, girl. Lady.”

She kneels down, inching forward. “I just want to say hi,” she says slowly, reaching her hand out. Lady’s eyes track it as Nicole keeps moving, a hand slipping under one of her paws. Lady shifts, moving back and exposing the puppy nestled safely in between her legs, snoring. Carefully, Nicole scoops the puppy up and lifts it, cradling it to her chest. She had done some reading at the library, and she knows that German Shepherd puppies should weigh about 4kg, but this one feels lighter.

“He’s weighing in at 2.5kg,” Lucille says from behind her. “He should get bigger, but he might always be a little on the smaller side.”

The puppy nuzzles his nose against Nicole’s chest, hot through Nicole’s flannel. Nicole scratches behind the puppy’s ears and the puppy blinks, staring up at her for a long moment before he nips her hand. 

There’s something about his eyes - they’re dark and brown and they almost look like they’re staring  _ through _ Nicole. She feels like he can see into her, and it blinks slowly, waking up a little. His back legs start kicking and she puts him down, but he climbs back into her lap, nosing at her stomach and her hands and stretching up with his paws on her chest to lick her chin.

“Him,” Nicole breathes out. “It’s him.”

“How do you know?” Wynonna asks. “You didn’t even pet the other ones.”

Nicole shakes her head. “I don’t need to. It’s him.”

Wynonna crouches down next to her, grinning when the small puppy nuzzles into her hand, his eyes still closed. “What’re you going to name him?”

“He doesn’t look like a Colombo,” she admits.

Wynonna shakes her head. “No, he doesn’t.” She wrinkles her nose. “What about, like, Journey, or something. Because…” She trails off. “Well, because of music, and stuff.”

“Def Leppard,” Nicole says quickly. She shakes her head. “No. That’s not it either.”

“Speedwagon?”

Nicole makes a face.

“Van Halen?”

“Foreigner.”

“Oh, Foreigner,” Wynonna repeats.

“Foreigner,” Nicole says again, testing the word in her mouth. “No.” She strokes her fingers over the small space between the puppy’s eyes, down his snout and off the end of his nose. “What about Styx?”

“Styx,” Wynonna says softly.

“His mom is Lady,” Nicole continues.

“I love that song,” Wynonna says.

“ _ I _ love that song. And Waverly loves that song, too.” Nicole grins widely as the puppy flops to one side, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. “What do  _ you _ think?” she asks the puppy. “Styx?”

The puppy lifts his head up, his eyes brown and wide. 

“Styx,” Nicole repeats, a little louder.

The puppy sits up, tail wagging. 

“Styx,” Nicole says.

The puppy  _ yips _ loudly, panting a little.

Nicole grins and runs both hands over his head, memorizing his little face so she can tell Waverly about it later: his pointed ears and the soft brown fur on his neck and stomach.

“I think you’ve found your one,” Lucille says behind her. 

“Styx,” Nicole says decisively. “I want him.” She stands and fishes into her back pocket for her wallet. “I wasn’t sure how much you were charging, but one of the guys in the department said he payed $200, and so-”

“No,” Lucille says firmly. “He won’t cost you anything.”

Nicole frowns. “Oh, no. I can’t give you nothing.”

“You’re giving this dog a home,” Lucille says. “That’s good enough for me.”

Nicole reaches into her wallet again. “Please, can I just-”

“Ruthie vouched for you,” Lucille says. She waves Nicole off again. “Please, I’m serious. Just come back in two weeks and pick him up, okay?”

Nicole stares at Lucille and slowly puts her wallet back into her pocket, giving Lucille a grateful smile. “I swear it,” she breathes out. She kneels back down, rubbing her hand over Styx’s head. “I’ll be back, buddy. Don’t you worry.”

 

-

They breeze into Purgatory, Nicole still feeling on top of the world. She’s going to call Waverly and tell her all about Styx,  _ their puppy _ , and how she’s going to have to go back into the city to that pet store to get all the supplies. She’s already planning day trips out to Moose Lake; teaching Styx how to swim and chase and fetch. She’ll teach him all the right things - sit and heel and get. Maybe she can even look into getting him trained as a K9 officer. 

They pull up in front of The Patch, and Nicole turns the car off quickly. “Come on,” she says. “I want to call Waves and tell her we got one.”

She gets out of the car and waits impatiently as Wynonna insists on sliding across the bench, getting out on the driver’s side. “You’re ridiculous,” she mutters.

“Charming,” Wynonna fires back.

Nicole rolls her eyes. “Right.  _ Real _ charming.”

“Hey,” Wynonna says, poking Nicole in the chest. “You were a total dweeb until I met you. You should be  _ praising _ me. Not making fun of me.”

“I was not,” Nicole argues.

Wynonna makes a face, stretching her arms out and squatting like she’s riding an imaginary bicycle. “Uh, hey, guys,” she says in a high voice. “My name is Nicole Marie Haught and I’m 121 centimeters tall and I only listen to music that  _ moves _ me.”

Nicole shoves gently at Wynonna’s shoulder, careful of the slick pavement beneath their feet. “I didn’t sound like that.”

“You totally did.”

“Totally didn’t.”

“Did,” Wynonna fires back.

“Did not.”

“Did.”

“Nicole?” someone asks from behind her.

Nicole frowns, turning. A man is standing on the sidewalk in front of The Patch. His glasses are different, his stubble has grown into a full beard, and the fire red of his hair has faded into something more gold-like, but his eyes… His eyes are exactly the same.

“Dad?”


	2. show me what he's done to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She looks down, staring at the cuff of her sleeve just below her elbow. The sleeves on her shirt wouldn’t roll right the first time. She should have known, when she rolled them and they came out sloppy and uneven, that everything was going to go wrong.
> 
> Everything is wrong.
> 
> But she’s not wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ‘T’ warning applies to Side B (this side) and deals with homophobia.

Nicole nods, a small dip of her head, as her dad comes into The Patch and hurries to a corner booth. Nicole watches him in the mirror behind the counter she’s sitting at, studying the way he leans down to kiss Susan on the cheek and rub at the cheek of the perfect 10-year-old Neil-and-Susan-hybrid sitting on the vinyl bench seat.

It’s still weird to see them there, sitting in  _ her _ Patch, in  _ her  _ town. She feels like she’s been living in a sort of dream world for the last week, seeing her dad around every corner. She went to Mattie’s, and there he was, debating the sound quality of compact discs versus 45s. She stopped by the hardware store to get a crate for Styx, and he was picking up a screwdriver set. She patrolled the park, and saw him at the new playground structure, sitting on the wooden benches they installed, with his arm around Susan while they watched their daughter on the swings. She took Styx on a walk through town and he was inside the pharmacy arguing with Jeremy about something.

Nicole frowns a little as she watches her dad interact with his daughter.  _ Bridget _ , she remembers. 

When Nicole had turned around and saw her dad - older, but the same eyes and the same self-assured smile - her stomach had dropped out. She was sure that it was joke. It  _ had _ to be. Her dad left Purgatory over ten years ago, and he wasn’t ever coming back; he’d said so enough times.

But Wynonna had gasped next to her and gripped her elbow tightly until Nicole’s whole hand tingled, and she knew it was  _ real _ . Neil Haught was standing in front of her, on Main Street in Purgatory, and he was smiling.

“You got  _ tall _ ,” her dad said. “Wow.”

“Growth spurt,” she mumbled. “In, uh, eighth grade.”

“Just like your grandmother,” he said. “On my side, of course. Your mom’s side was never much in height.”

Nicole curled her fingertips into the sleeves of her jacket, the material tightening around her shoulders. Wynonna was still holding on to her, her nails cutting into Nicole’s arm through the dense fabric. Her dad looked at Wynonna’s hand on Nicole’s arm for a moment, his smile flickering before he met Nicole’s eyes. 

“Are you taller than Nathan?” he asked, his shoulders jumping in a silent laugh.

“He’s still got an inch on me,” Nicole admitted.

Her dad glanced at Wynonna. “And…”

“Wynonna,” Nicole filled in.

“Wynonna,” her dad repeated.

“My best friend,” Nicole continued. Wynonna’s hand flexed. “The same best friend I’ve had for fifteen years. Wynonna Earp.”

Her dad snapped his fingers. “Right. The Earp girls. You all moved in with your aunt and uncle, right?” He nodded, answering his own question. “How are they? Your uncle still running this place?” he asked, pointing back at the big neon sign in the window.

Nicole inhaled sharply. Wynonna’s hand went slack on her arm, dropping against her thigh with a soft  _ thud _ . Nicole’s stomach pushed back up into her throat and everything went fuzzy around the edges of her eyes. 

“He’s dead,” Wynonna said, her voice hollow.

It sliced hot through Nicole’s stomach, the truth. Curtis was gone and she’d made her peace with it, but she doesn’t like to talk about it, and she doesn’t say it like  _ that _ . 

Her dad frowned, his fingers tugging on his beard. “I…” His eyes widened. “Oh, I-I remember. I’m… I’m so sorry.”

Wynonna shrugged, eyes hard. “Everyone is.” She brushed past Nicole, pulling open the door to The Patch and disappearing inside.

Her dad winced. “I am sorry.”

“I called you,” Nicole said. “When it happened. I called you, and-”

“I remember,” her dad rushed. “It was right when-”

“Daddy!” someone shouted.

Her dad turned and kneeled down just as a small flash blew by Nicole and jumped into his arms. Nicole swallowed hard as her dad lifted the girl in his arms up.

“This town doesn’t even have a Tim Horton’s,” the little girl said. “And I want a danish.”

Her dad smiled. “Well, there’s a place down the street that has-”

“Closed down two years ago,” Nicole said sharply.

Something flashed over her dad’s face, but Nicole didn’t know him well enough to recognize it. He sighed. “Well. We’ll be okay without a danish. Won’t we, Princess?”

The word washed over Nicole like a cold shower, sinking into the tips of her fingers and the tops of her toes. She remembered being younger, the way  _ Princess _ felt like an insult; how he would call her that and ignore her when she said she didn’t like it. The little girl in his arms only giggled, squirming away from his wiggling fingers.

“Do we have to stay long?” the little girl asked.

Her dad smiled tightly. “A bit, yeah. But…” He dropped her back to the sidewalk and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his hand curling into the collar of her pea coat. “Princess.”

_ Princess, _ her mind spit.  _ That used to be you _ .

“This is Nicole,” her dad said. “She’s your sister.”

“Half-sister,” someone said behind her dad’s shoulder. 

Susan’s face hadn’t aged much since the last time Nicole remembered seeing it, in the office of her dad’s insurance company, being introduced as an out-of-town colleague. She’d been young then, and visiting her dad at his job had been a treat. The woman with the blonde hair and the skirt and the bright smile had been funny, and her laugh made Nicole’s stomach feel warm. 

Her dad’s face was pinched. “Half-sister,” he corrected. “Nicole, this is Bridget.”

Nicole stared at Bridget. She had Nathan’s eyes - their father’s eyes - but Susan’s smile. “Hi,” she managed.

Bridget tipped her head to one side, studying Nicole. “Hi. I thought you’d look more like me.”

Susan’s hand curled around her dad’s arm, her wedding ring sparkling in the afternoon sun. “She looks more like her own mom, sweetie.”

Her dad laughed, the sound fake. “All of the Haught height and none of the looks. Lucky you.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. 

Nicole watched the motion with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She picked at the skin around her thumb. “What… what are you doing here?” she finally asked.

“Mr. Lesard passed,” her dad said. “My old boss. We came to pay our respects.”

Nicole knew the funeral was coming up. Mr. Lesard had been well-known around Purgatory, but not well-liked. Shorty had tipped his hat when he read the news in the  _ Ottawa Citizen _ , sitting at the counter of The Patch, and said, “good riddance.” The sick feeling in her stomach twisted into anger. It caught her off guard, the blinding white-hot heat that rippled through her. His old boss, a man he hadn’t worked for for years, had died and her dad had come running back to Purgatory.

_ Where were you when Curtis died _ ? she wanted to ask.  _ Where were you when Nathan had his accident? Where were you when Mom was out of work for six months with a boot on her foot? Where were you on my first day of high school, or the academy, or on the force? _

“Does Nathan know?” she heard herself ask.

Her dad smiled, wide and genuine now. “Not yet. Hoping to surprise him, actually. Is he still at the factory?”

Nicole shook her head. “His girlfriend was going to pick him up for lunch,” she said.

Her dad’s shoulders slumped. “Well, that’s okay. We’re staying at the Rose B&B, on-”

“Spruce,” Nicole interrupted. She knew the street and the bed and breakfast. It was on her normal patrol route.

“It’s… quaint,” Susan said tightly. Her hand flexed where it was wrapped around Nicole’s dad’s arm. “But we should get going, honey, if we’re going to meet Mrs. Lesard for dinner.”

Nicole didn’t need to check her Casio; it was only two in the afternoon. She hooked a thumb over her shoulder and took a small step backwards. “I’ve got to go,” she said, unable to think up anything else. She turned sharply on her heel and followed the same path Wynonna had taken, through the door to The Patch and up to the counter, reaching over the top and grabbing a glass. She picked up the soda gun and shot ice-cold Orange Crush into her cup, downing it in one swallow.

Gus arched an eyebrow at her. “Long day?”

“The longest,” Nicole said. In the mirror, she watched her dad through the big window; watched him lean down to kiss the top of Susan’s head and grab Bridget’s hand; watched as they disappeared from in front of The Patch, almost as if they had never been there in the first place.

Wynonna appears at her side as she sighs, pulling her eyes away from the nuclear family in her third favorite booth. She frowns at Nicole and looks in the mirror, following her gaze and huffing loudly. 

“It’s not just me, right?” Wynonna asks. “Her face hasn’t moved  _ a meter _ , in, like, years, right?”

Nicole snorts softly. “No, it hasn’t.”

“Botox,” Wynonna says firmly. “It’s a thing now. It makes your face freeze,” she explains. “If I ever did it, I’d make a face like this.” She lets her eyes cross and screws her mouth up into an odd shape, lips pursed. “Before I took the injection.”

Nicole laughs and shoulders Wynonna gently. “You’re a noob.”

“But you smiled. And that makes me the best.”

Nicole lets her forehead rest on Wynonna’s shoulder, barely jumping as Wynonna’s hand scratches softly at the back of her neck. “You are the best.”

“You’re only saying that,” Wynonna scoffs. “We all know you think Bobo is better than me.”

“Bobo does make me food,” Nicole points out.

“But he doesn’t do this,” Wynonna says, digging her knuckles into the knot at the base of Nicole’s spine.

Nicole groans, her body tensing for a second before she breathes out heavily and lets Wynonna work the knot loose. “If Bobo ever tried to do anything like this…” she trails off as Wynonna finds a sensitive spot.

Wynonna had been unrestrained fury when Nicole finally found her, sitting on a milkcrate in the back of the kitchen. She was throwing gravel at the side of the dumpster, and Nicole stepped out of the kitchen just as one bounced off the dumpster and hit the side of Bobo’s ‘83 Glenfrome Facet.

“You know, Gus just put on-

“What is he doing here?” Wynonna hissed. “Asking about Curtis like he’s-”

“I know,” Nicole said softly. “I know.”

It had been a shock to hear someone talk about Curtis so casually; like he didn’t know the weight Curtis carried here. Wynonna’s shoulders slumped and she sagged back against the side of the building, a scowl on her face. Nicole let the silence swell between them, let her heart stop racing, and tried not to think about the word  _ Princess _ rattling around in her head.

Wynonna sighed, standing up and bumping Nicole’s hip with her own. She threw an arm over her shoulder and pulled hard. Nicole stumbled a little, her head knocking into Wynonna’s chin.

“Come on,” Wynonna said. “Let’s go see if Doc has any cars we can dent.”

Nicole groans loudly as Wynonna’s hands hit the same spot again. Wynonna snickers. “Careful. People might get the wrong idea.”

Nicole feels her face flush, and she ducks out of Wynonna’s hands, pushing at them. “Get off me.”

Someone clears their throat behind her and Nicole nearly falls off her stool as she turns around. Her dad is standing there, his cheeks red and his eyes narrowed just slightly. Nicole can feel Wynonna’s hand on her shoulder, a heavy, grounding weight. Nicole leans into it a little, the way she’s been leaning into Wynonna for the last week. They’d gone to Doc’s, and Nicole had put a few bumps and bruises into the body of a broken down ‘89 Cadillac Fleetwood. Doc had already harvested her parts and spread them out across other cars in the lot, but the body was just sitting in the back, waiting to be towed to the scrap yard in the next town over. She’d held a tire iron in her hand and tried not to imagine her dad’s face as he said the word ‘ _ Princess _ ’ over and over again. 

It’d been a week of that; of Wynonna taking her to the garage to help break down cars and Wynonna picking her up from her shifts to take her to Shorty’s to play skee ball and Wynonna buying her tapes at Mattie’s and Wynonna driving with her out to Edmonton to pick up Styx and and Wynonna tagging along as she introduced Styx to his new home. Wynonna has been her rock, always within reach, and it’s easier to breathe when Wynonna is nearby.

“Hi,” her dad finally says. “Wynonna.”

Wynonna makes a noise that sounds like a grunt. Nicole elbows her gently, and she sighs, but opens her mouth. “Whassup?”

Her dad looks at her. “I was thinking it might be nice to go out. You, me, and Nathan? Maybe I can take you guys to Shorty’s?” he asks excitedly. “Remember I told you I’d teach you how to skate?”

“Curtis taught her already,” Wynonna says tightly. “When we were 10.”

“Oh.” Her dad rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “Well, then we can still skate. For old time’s sake.”

“Nathan can’t skate,” Nicole says. “Not after his accident.”

“Oh,” her dad repeats. “I saw him limping. I thought he had gotten better.”

Nicole frowns. “He tore his ACL, cracked his patella in half, and shattered the top of his tibia. You don’t just… get better from that.” She shakes her head.  _ No _ , she thinks.  _ If you’re Nathan, you don’t get better. You get addicted to pain medication and drink too much and nearly destroy your life. And then you live, but you don’t just get better _ . 

“Well,” her dad tries. “Maybe we can do something else?”

Nicole shrugs.  _ We never did anything before _ , she thinks. It was always her dad and Nathan - playing catch or listening to music or going on fishing trips. She tried to tag along, but after a while, being ignored hurt too much and Wynonna was more fun.

“Neil,” Susan calls from across the dining room. “Honey, your burger is getting cold.”

“In a minute,” he says, smiling widely. He turns back to Nicole. “Are you free, at least? I know Nathan works at the factory, but I don’t… Do you work with your mom?”

Nicole tips her head to the side, frowning slightly. “At the hospital?”

Wynonna snorts. “Yeah, right. Roller here is afraid of needles.” 

Nicole smacks the back of her hand against Wynonna’s stomach. “Am not.”

“Are too.”

Her dad looks between the two of them. “So, you’re a teacher, then? Or do you have an office job?”

“She’s a hell of a filer,” Wynonna says, moving away from another swat to her stomach. “Reorganized the entire Sheriff’s Department filing system.”

Her dad nods, smiling now. “You always did like that cops and robbers game.”

Nicole can feel a smile growing on her face.  _ He remembered I wanted to be a cop _ , she thinks.

“It makes total sense you’d be working a secretary for the Sheriff, then.”

Nicole feels her stomach drop again. “I’m… I’m not a secretary.”

Her dad frowns.

“I’m a deputy,” she says slowly. “I’m a Purgatory Sheriff’s Deputy.”

“Gonna be Sheriff one day,” Wynonna adds. She throws an arm around Nicole’s shoulder proudly. “Nedley said so himself.”

“Wynonna,” Nicole mutters.

“Can it,” Wynonna fires back. “You’re gonna be the best damn Sheriff this town has ever seen.”

“Nedley is the best Sheriff this town has ever seen,” Nicole says firmly. 

“Suck up,” Wynonna accuses. When she turns back to Nicole’s dad, her eyes are hard again. “She’s going to be Sheriff one day.”

Her dad rubs at the back of his neck again. “You’re, uh, a deputy?”

Nicole’s stomach is tying itself into knots, one over the other. “I went into the Academy right after high school. Nedley hired me.”

“I didn’t know Purgatory had women employees,” her dad says slowly. “Who aren’t secretaries, I mean.”

Nicole’s eyes narrow. She can hear Mr. La Pierre from behind his screen door, laughing at her for offering to mow the lawn. His voice fades, drowned out by the roar of a lawn mower and Gus’s voice telling her she can be whatever she wants; by “The Warrior” in her ears as she marches into her first day of high school; by Waverly, on the hood of her car, telling her she’s going to be so much more than just a girl from Purgatory. She straightens her shoulders and Wynonna’s arm presses against hers as she stands tall.

“Well, they do. They have  _ me _ .”

“And me,” someone says.

Nicole looks past her dad, at Linda. She smiles, the knots loosening. “Hey, Linda.”

“Nicole,” Linda says lightly. “Earp.”

“Doucette,” Wynonna drawls. “Your order is ready.”

Linda rolls her eyes. “Like I’d eat the food that clown makes. Homemade meatloaf my behind. That’s frozen and he knows it.”

The swinging door to the kitchen kicks open and Bobo pops his head out, a spatula in his hand. “I thought I heard a bird squawking.”

“I helped bring you into this world Robert, and I’ll be the first to take you out of it,” Linda warns. There’s a sparkle in her eyes, the same one she always gets when she’s poking at Bobo about how she delivered him in the back of Purgatory’s now-defunct  1964 Chevrolet Malibu cruiser . “You do best to remember that.”

Bobo scowls and disappears into the kitchen. Linda leans against the counter, eyes moving up and down Nicole’s dad slowly.

“Neil,” she says, her voice flat.

Her dad tenses. “Ms. Doucette.”

Linda barely hides her eye roll. “Who died?”

“Mr. Lesard.” Her dad looks at Nicole - maybe for help; Nicole doesn’t know - before he looks back at Linda. “How’s David and Sarah?”

“Gone,” Linda says sharply. “Like we all thought you were.”

“Well, Mr. Lesard-”

“You said,” Linda says, cutting him off. She turns and looks expectantly at Wynonna. “My lunch, girl?”

Wynonna startles and nods. “Right. Lunch.” She spins on her heel and pushes through the door to the kitchen, coming back as it swings again, holding a brown paper bag. She hands it to Linda, waving off the bill Linda tries to give her in return. “Honest,” she says when Linda pushes. “I’ll put it on Nedley’s tab.”

Linda laughs, sharp and short. “You do that, girl.” She catches Nicole’s eye. “You stay clear of the station, you hear me?”

Nicole nods, contrite. “I told Nedley I wouldn’t come in again unless I’m on the clock.”

“Atta girl,” Linda says. “Hell, you’re there more often than the Sheriff is.”

Wynonna lifts her chin into the air. “See? She’s going to be the best damn Sheriff this town has ever seen.”

Linda squeezes her arm gently as she passes, and Nicole leans into it, seeking the comfort. She barely swerves around Nicole’s dad, their shoulders clipping as Linda passes him.

“She never liked me,” her dad jokes, the back of his neck red when he turns to watch the front door close behind Linda.

“No one does,” Wynonna mutters, just loud enough for Nicole to hear.

“Why?” Nicole asks, her voice too loud. She winces at the sound of it.

Her dad sighs. “Her son-”

“David,” Nicole interrupts. “I know him.” She knows  _ about _ him, at least. And the things she knows about him are eating away at her the longer she holds onto them.

“We were friends. We played hockey together for Purgatory High.” Her dad sighs. “We got into an accident in high school, a week before the province finals. He broke his leg. I don’t think he ever put skates back on.”

Nicole frowns. “You played hockey?”

Her dad puffs out his chest proudly. “Sure did. Varsity, all four years. David and I were the only freshman on the team.” He claps a hand against his thigh. “Can’t move like I used to, but I was like lightning out there.”

“You were driving the car,” Nicole says. She’s not guessing. She can see the shadow in his eyes, the same one that Robbie Lait gets every time he looks at Nathan; the shadow that comes from changing the course of someone’s life. Nicole has seen it on calls out, in the eyes of passing motorists who don’t brake quick enough for deer, and once in Herman Tate’s eyes, after he mistook his mama for a hay bale. It’s guilt and regret and Nicole idly thinks that when her dad talks about leaving Purgatory, his eyes are clear and bright.

_ He didn’t miss us _ , she thinks. The thought knocks her back, like a strong wind. She can feel Wynonna’s hand at the small of her back, steadying her. 

“David had scouts lined up,” her dad admits. “And when he couldn’t play, Coach put me on the ice. I got more than a few of David’s offers.”

Nicole shakes her head slowly, trying to make sense of it. The bell above the door jingles softly. “So, hold on. You-”

“You!” someone shouts.

Nicole’s head snaps up. “Waverly,” she breathes out.

Waverly squeals and drops her duffel bag, running across the dining room. She throws herself into Nicole’s arms, her hands at Nicole’s neck and her legs locking around Nicole’s waist. “Waverly,” she says again.

Waverly leans in to kiss her, and Nicole panics.

_ He didn’t think I could be a deputy _ , her mind screams.  _ What will he say if she kisses you right now? _

Something twists hard in her stomach - self-preservation or the urge to protect Waverly, she’s not sure. It turns and roars and Nicole moves her head to the side, Waverly’s lips sliding along her cheek. Waverly tenses in her arms, her fingernails digging into the base of Nicole’s spine. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, pulling back. Her eyes skate down Nicole’s face to her lips, and she leans in again.

Nicole leans back. “Not here,” she manages, the words a whisper.

Waverly frowns. “Not here? What the hell is the-”

Wynonna clears her throat noisily and her eyes shoot towards Nicole’s dad, watching them carefully. 

Waverly’s arms go slack around her neck and her legs give out just as Nicole hooks her hands under Waverly’s thighs. Her body trembles under Waverly’s dead weight, but Waverly slides down her body and lands on her feet, her side pressed against Nicole’s. A hand moves to Nicole’s back pocket, slipping into the denim quickly before disappearing.

“What’s going on?” Waverly asks slowly. She narrows her eyes, studying Nicole’s dad carefully. 

“Waverly,” Nicole says, the rest of the words she wants to say stuck in the back of her throat. She feels fourteen again, the phone receiver pressed against her ear as she tries to figure out how to say the words out loud, how to tell her dad that Curtis died and everything was falling apart.  _ Waverly _ ,  _ my girlfriend _ , she wants to say.  _ Waverly, the love of my life.  _ “Waverly Earp, this is my dad.”

Waverly’s spine straightens. “Mr. Haught.”

“Wynonna’s little sister,” he says slowly. He looks up at Nicole and winks. “Ha! I remembered that one.”

“And Nicole’s-”

Nicole cuts Waverly off, her arm across the back of Waverly’s shoulders. “And mine, too. My best friend.”

Waverly’s head snaps around, and Nicole can feel her glaring hard against the side of Nicole’s face. 

“That’s nice that you’ve all managed to stay such good friends,” her dad says politely.

The hand against Nicole’s side twitches. “Actually,” Waverly starts. “We’re-”

“The best,” Nicole says, cutting her off again. She grabs for Waverly’s hand, fingers looping around Waverly’s wrist. “Can you just… One minute.” She turns and tugs Waverly, pulling her through the swinging door and out of the back screen door. She makes it down the stairs and turns when she reaches the dumpster, sighing when she sees Waverly still standing on the steps, arms crossed over her chest and eyes narrowed. “Baby,” she tries.

“Sorry,” Waverly says sharply. “I apparently only respond to  _ Best Friend _ now.”

Nicole’s entire body sags. “Waverly-”

“And your  _ dad _ is home?” Waverly continues. “When did he get here?”

“A week ago,” Nicole says slowly. 

Waverly’s eyes flash angrily. “A  _ week _ ago? And you didn’t tell me?”

Nicole scrubs a hand down her face. “I tried,” she admits.

She had tried. After seeing her dad outside of The Patch, after chasing Wynonna to the back lot, after breaking that junk car down, Nicole had called Waverly and  _ tried _ to tell her. Waverly had been going on and on about her student teaching class and how she had finally gotten through to one of her harder students and Nicole’s news felt like a weighted stone that would have sunk Waverly’s good mood. So she had swallowed it down and forced a smile and laughed at all the right moments. 

“We said we were going to  _ talk _ to each other,” Waverly says, pointing a finger in Nicole’s direction.

“Hi, Waverly,” Nicole says flatly. “My dad came back into town after being gone for almost fourteen years with his brand new family because a boss he had when he lived in Purgatory,  _ fourteen years ago _ , died.” She folds her arms over her chest. “How’s your day?”

Waverly sighs. “Nicole…”

Nicole looks away and shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve barely talked to each other.” She scoffs. “He only just found out I work for the Sheriff’s Department.”

“You’ll be the best damn Sheriff this town will ever have,” Waverly says, her eyes softening.

Nicole rolls her eyes. “You and Wynonna need some better promotional material.”

“As your  _ best friend _ , it’s my job to promote you,” Waverly says, her voice tight and her face pinched. 

Nicole sighs. “I-”

Waverly comes down the steps, stopping on the last one, arms still crossed over her chest.

Nicole moves closer, inching forward with her eyes on Waverly to gauge her reaction. When Waverly doesn’t pull away or push at her, Nicole rests her hands on Waverly’s waist, sighing softly in relief. “Waves,” Nicole starts.

Waverly huffs and unfolds her arms, resting them on Nicole’s shoulders. Standing on the bottom step, Nicole is eye to eye with her.

“He thought I was the secretary at the Sheriff’s Department.”

Waverly snorts, the sound bubbling into a laugh. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “I’m just… I’m picturing you in one of Sharon Coulter’s outfits.”

Nicole wrinkles her nose. “That’s grody.”

“Your legs are nicer than Sharon’s,” Waverly offers.

Nicole lifts an eyebrow in surprise. “Oh, so you’re staring at Sharon’s legs, huh?”

Waverly smirks, playing with the ends of Nicole’s hair. “What can I say? I have a thing for older women.”

Nicole laughs, caught off guard. “That’s bitchin’.”

Waverly rolls her eyes.

Nicole takes a deep breath, her laugh fading into a frown. “He told me he didn’t know that women could work in the Sheriff’s Department and not be secretaries. He asked me if I was a teacher or had an office job or if I worked at the hospital.”

“That sexist-”

“I can’t tell him that I’m in love with a woman,” Nicole rushes out.

She hasn’t been afraid to say those words out loud in eight years. Curtis and Wynonna had cushioned all the blows she thought she would take. Wynonna’s silent strength and Curtis’s hand on her shoulder had kept her steady for the last eight years. Purgatory might be a small place, but it was  _ her _ place, and she belonged to the town; she belonged here.  _ And Neil Haught isn’t a part of this town _ , she thinks. He’s a transient, someone just passing through her life. 

_ But he matters _ , the nine-year-old inside of her screams.  _ He’s never been here, but he matters _ .

It’s the one thing she’s never wanted to admit, that she carries her dad around in the back of her mind wherever she goes.

Waverly’s eyes soften and her mouth parts and she breathes out softly. “Baby,” she says.

“I will,” Nicole promises. “I will. But I just-”

“Okay,” Waverly cuts in. “Just breathe, baby.”

Nicole looks down at her chest, frowning as she realizes that it’s rising and falling faster than she can keep up.

“That’s good,” Waverly says, coaching her. “Good.”

Nicole swallows hard and blows out a hot breath. “Sorry.”

Waverly keeps stroking her fingers down the back of Nicole’s neck, drawing shapes that Nicole can’t quite figure out. She focuses on them, eyes closed as she tries to make out what Waverly is doing. She smiles, eyes still closed as she realizes that Waverly is drawing hearts.

“You tell him when you’re ready,” Waverly says, leaning her forehead against Nicole’s. “Okay?”

Nicole nods wordlessly, the ache she didn’t notice in her chest loosening. 

“Okay,” Waverly repeats.

“You’re home,” Nicole breathes out, finding her voice.

“ _ Surprise _ ,” Waverly cheers softly. “It’s a long weekend, and I… I missed you,” she admits.

“I missed you, too,” Nicole whispers. She leans forward, pushing up on her toes even though she doesn’t need to. Her lips are dry, but Waverly kisses her hard, hands flat against the back of Nicole’s neck. 

“Gag me,” Wynonna says. She’s in the kitchen, her nose flat against the screen.

“Hi to you, too, Wynonna,” Waverly says, her forehead against Nicole’s.

“Oh, you remembered I exist.” Wynonna says flatly.

Waverly rolls her eyes, leaning away from Nicole. “Try as I might, you won’t let me,” she sings.

Wynonna kicks the screen door open, catching Waverly in the back of the legs. Waverly yelps and sags forward, Nicole’s arms tightening around her waist.

“Can you two stop tongue wrestling and come back in here?” Wynonna grimaces. “Your dad is sweating all over my counter.”

Nicole sighs. Waverly kisses her again, quickly and fleeting and Nicole presses a hand to her lips carefully, the tip of her fingers coming back sticky with Waverly’s lip gloss. 

Waverly’s hand slides into hers, squeezing gently before they push through the swinging door and step back into the dining room.

Her dad looks up and puts on something that might be a smile if Nicole knew him better. “What about dinner?” her dad suggests quickly. “Skating is out and you guys are all grown up anyway. But dinner, we can do that, right? We can go out somewhere, all of us.”

“Maybe,” Nicole says, dragging the word out, the ghost of Waverly’s hand in hers. 

Her dad forces a smile in Nicole’s direction. “Think about it,” he pleads. “Bridget really wants to get to know you.”

Nicole looks towards the booth where Susan and Bridget are still sitting, waiting impatiently. Susan is tapping her heeled foot against the tiled floor, out of beat with Haddaway’s “What Is Love” playing on the jukebox. Bridget is drawing on a piece of paper, and she looks up suddenly, meeting Nicole’s eye. There’s nothing but boredom in her stare.

“Sure,” Nicole hears herself saying. “Dinner would be, uh, good.”

“Yeah?” her dad asks excitedly. “Dinner, perfect.” He claps his hands together. “Dinner!” he shouts to Susan over his shoulder.

“Great,” Susan says, her voice fading on the word.

“Great,” Nicole says.

“Great,” Waverly echoes.

“This will be  _ perfect _ ,” her dad says. 

_ This is going to be a disaster _ , Nicole thinks.

 

-

Nicole sinks back into her secondhand couch and grins as Styx bounds across the apartment and tumbles headfirst into the coffee table. Waverly comes running after him, scooping him off the floor and rubbing his snout. Styx nips playfully at Waverly’s hand and then licks at the bite, tipping his head to one side.

“He’s trouble,” Waverly says. She sits down on the floor, her legs crossed, and puts Styx down. He rushes forward, falling face-first into the carpet Nicole’s mom got her, but he keeps going, righting himself.

“He’s perfect,” Nicole agrees, nodding.

Waverly grins at her. She rises up on her knees and crawls over to Nicole, twisting and sitting back down. Nicole drops her hand to the back of Waverly’s head, twisting some loose strands of her ponytail around her finger slowly. Waverly’s head falls back against Nicole’s knees and her eyes flutter closed.

“He is,” Waverly says. “Your first dog.”

“ _ Our _ first dog,” Nicole corrects. She leans forward, her lips to Waverly’s forehead. “He’s  _ ours _ .”

Waverly’s cheeks flush. “I didn’t want to assume,” she admits.

Nicole frowns. “Assume what?”

“That he was ours. I mean, I’m still away at school, and-”

“And you want him, right?” Nicole asks, cutting Waverly off.

Waverly nods quickly. “Of course I do.”

Nicole smiles crookedly. “Then he’s ours.” She swallows heavily, her other question on the tip of her tongue. “And… And this place can be, too.”

Waverly tips her head to one side before she twists, turning to prop her elbows up on the couch cushion. “What?”

Nicole rubs at the back of her neck and stops suddenly, her hand dropping. She doesn’t know where the future is taking Waverly, and she hopes - more than she’s ever hoped for anything in her life - that it takes her back to Purgatory. Back to  _ Nicole _ . 

“I want you to move in with me,” Nicole says slowly, feeling each word in her mouth. “When you’re done with school, I want you to move here with me. This… This could be  _ ours _ .” She sweeps an arm out, and Waverly’s eyes follow the invisible line she creates. “We can live here, above The Patch,  _ together _ .”

Waverly pushes up on her knees, staring at Nicole. “You want me to live with you?”

“I want us to live together,” Nicole corrects. “I want…” Her whole body shakes. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Waverly’s eyes widen. “Are you proposing?” she asks, her voice a whisper.

Nicole’s mouth opens and she shakes her head quickly. “No.” She watches Waverly’s shoulders drop. “No, I’m-” She stops and takes a deep breath. “We’re too young,” she says, wincing. She reaches for Waverly, relieved when Waverly doesn’t move away. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” she repeats. “Whatever that means. And I want to start it here, in this apartment.”

Waverly stares at her for a long moment, eyes moving over Nicole’s face. “You want to spend the rest of your life with me.”

“I’ve  _ always _ wanted that,” Nicole breathes out. “You’re my favorite person in the whole world, Waverly Earp.” She inhales, her chest expanding. “And I’m going to tell my dad that.”

Waverly’s eyes narrow. “Don’t tell your dad about us just to avoid this marriage conversation.”

Nicole feels her face flush. “I’m not,” she insists.

Waverly purses her lips. “I know I’m going to marry you someday. But I’m patient. I can wait as long as you need me to.”

Nicole snorts. “You, patient? Sure.”

“Hey!” Waverly pushes at Nicole’s knee. “Don’t be a hoser.”

“I’m your hoser,” Nicole sings.

Waverly softens. “You’re really going to tell your dad?”

Nicole nods, running her hand through Waverly’s pulled-back hair. She tugs gently on her ponytail, giving her a soft smile. “I’m not ashamed of you.”

Waverly reaches up, covering Nicole’s hand with her own. “I didn’t think you were.”

“And I’m not ashamed of us,” Nicole continues.

Waverly’s fingers run across the ridge of her knuckles. “But you’re a little ashamed of yourself,” she says quietly.

Nicole’s body tenses. She looks away, across the apartment, to the  _ Rolling Stone _ magazine she hung up as soon as she moved in. It’s right above the desk Gus found up here and let her have, in the same place it was when it hung in her room at her mom’s. Nicole has stacks of notes littered across the desk - things she’s allowed to take home so she can keep piecing together the Highway 63 Trade. She’d stopped short of getting a big cork board at the supply store in the city, worried she might look a little too obsessed. 

Some nights when she’s working,  _ Rolling Stone _ watches over her, and she can almost hear Curtis’s voice telling her, “ _ Nicole Haught, you are going to be something amazing when you grow up. And if your dad isn’t here to witness it, he’s the fool. Do you understand me _ ?”

Curtis was right; it’s  _ his _ loss. She’s a Sheriff’s Deputy. She passed through the Academy with high marks. She’s being groomed for Sheriff. She got Nathan back and she has her mom and she has Gus and Wynonna and Waverly and Linda and Doc and Rosita and Jeremy and Dolls and Chrissy and Perry. She graduated high school. She saved Wynonna from drowning under Curtis’s death. She kept Gus and Wynonna and Waverly afloat. She built a lawn mowing business and bought her first car all on her own. She picked Nathan up out of his bed and threw him in the shower and helped him stand back up. 

And her dad wasn’t there for any of it. She did it all  _ without _ him. 

But seeing him now makes her feel like she’s a kid again, sitting on the edge of the driveway while he teaches Nathan to throw a punch. She can feel the asphalt burning through her shorts and her hand aches from clenching her fist so tight, just like he showed Nathan.  _ Ask me _ , she had wanted to shout that day.  _ Ask me how to do it, because I can _ . 

_ See me, dad. I’m right here. _

Her whole life, she’s only wanted him to  _ see _ her.

Not as  _ Princess _ . Not as a secretary. Not as some factory worker’s girlfriend. 

As  _ her _ \- Nicole Haught, Sheriff Department Deputy, in love with Waverly Earp.

_ And if he looks at me and doesn’t like what he sees _ … Nicole swallows hard. Her eyes burn at the corner.

Waverly’s hand comes down over her knee, her palm hot. “Sweetie?”

Nicole blinks rapidly, trying to clear her eyes. “I just want him to…” She swallows again, the words sticking in her throat. “I just want him to be proud of me. And-”

“And not everyone lives in Purgatory,” Waverly cuts in gently. She stands up, nudging at Nicole’s legs so she has enough space to sit on the small couch. Styx nips at Nicole’s ankles and then makes a whining sound, laying down with his head on Nicole’s feet. “Not everyone knows how amazing we are together.”

Nicole nods, the motion jerky. “We’re so good together.”

“And he was never there to see that,” Waverly continues. She reaches up and tucks some loose strands of Nicole’s hair behind her ear. “He wasn’t here for the start of us. He doesn’t know how long it took us to get this good.”

Nicole leans in, her forehead against Waverly’s shoulder. “He doesn’t know how much this town loves you.”

Waverly runs her hand down the length of Nicole’s neck, pressing back until Nicole sits up again. “How much this town loves  _ you _ ,” she adds.

Nicole starts to shake her head. “No, they-”

“I might be the town sweetheart, but you’re the town’s true love, Nicole Haught,” Waverly says sharply. “Chrissy is still my best friend, you know.” She holds up a finger when Nicole opens her mouth. “Every other sentence out of Nedley’s mouth is ‘ _ Nicole this’ _ and ‘ _ Nicole that _ ’. Gus likes you better than nearly everyone. Even Mrs. Dray thinks you hung the moon. I’ve been home for two days, and this whole place has already forgotten about me. When we were taking Styx for a walk yesterday,  _ everyone _ was talking to  _ you _ .” 

Waverly smiles, her hand pressing against Nicole’s chest. “Everyone loves you here.”

“But there’s a whole world out there, Waverly,” Nicole breathes. “He’s lived an entirely different life than us.”

Waverly pauses, nodding slowly. “And you’re worried that-”

“That I’m going to let him down.  _ Again _ .” Her eyes burn again and she has to look away. 

Waverly moves closer, her mouth against Nicole’s cheek. “Then screw him.”

Nicole laughs, the noise catching her by surprise. “What?”

“He’s a  _ dickweed _ if he thinks you let him down,” Waverly says, her voice steady. “You have done nothing but lift everyone up, all the time. You don’t deserve to be let down and I won’t let it happen.”

Nicole’s stomach twists and turns but it doesn’t hurt anymore; it feels like it does when “Love Walks In” comes on and she’s not expecting it. A warm bloom of something -  _ love _ , she think.  _ It’s love _ .

“Come to dinner with us,” Nicole asks.

Waverly smiles softly. “Really?”

Nicole nods, the motion smooth and sure. “Really,” she echoes. “Nathan is bringing Mercedes, to show her off.”

Waverly snorts. “Oh, god. That’ll be an adventure.”

“And I want to show  _ you _ off,” Nicole continues. “So come, please.”

Waverly smiles wider and nods, leaning in. Her mouth brushes against Nicole’s. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Nicole echoes. She smiles, kissing Waverly harder.

Waverly twists, leaning back against Nicole briefly before she reaches down and lifts Styx up, huffing as she settles him at the end of the couch. His back legs kick like he’s dreaming, and he whines before pushing his snout against Waverly’s legs, stretched to the end of the couch. Waverly leans back into Nicole again, pulling Nicole’s arm around her waist.

“Let’s talk layout,” Waverly says.

Nicole snorts. “Of what?”

Waverly tips her head up, her lips against the bottom of Nicole’s chin. “Well, if I’m going to live here, there’s going to need to be room for your cassette collection  _ and _ me.”

Nicole laughs. “I didn’t know I had to compromise.”

Waverly gives a heavy, exaggerated sigh. “I’m just your mistress, aren’t I? These tapes are your real girlfriend.”

Nicole pinches Waverly’s side and grins when Waverly jerks in her arms.

“Fine,” Waverly sighs. “I’ll negotiate. But I want  _ my _ desk here.”

“Okay,” Nicole breathes out, kissing the side of Waverly’s head. “What else?”

 

-

“You look fine,” Waverly assures her.

Nicole looks down, eyes wide. “Fine?  _ Fine _ ? I need to look  _ better than fine _ .”

Waverly sighs and steps in front of the closet door. “Please. Please don’t change again,” she says, her voice bordering on begging. “You look  _ fine _ the way that John Stamos looks  _ fine _ , okay? A total babe.”

Nicole pulls at the heavily starched collar of her polyester button down shirt. 

“Styx,  _ no _ ,” Nicole says sharply as Styx pushes up on his hind legs, his paws on Nicole’s black jeans.

“Okay, enough,” Waverly says firmly. She grabs Nicole by the elbow, pushing her towards the apartment door. “We’re leaving. You look bitchin’. We’re going to be late.”

“Late?” Nicole asks, her voice strangled. She checks her Casio. “Oh, my god... we’re going to be late.” She pulls at the button down again. It’s brand new and she’s not sure she likes it, but it looks good with her black jeans and she pulled some strands of her hair back, so it’s hanging high up and half down, and she’s  _ trying _ . 

_ Trying what _ , a voice in the back of her head asks.  _ Trying to prove what _ ?

She hurries down the stairs and pauses halfway, looking at her feet with a frown. “Shoes,” she mutters. She runs back up the stairs and stops short in the doorway. She smiles sheepishly at Waverly, standing in the living room, holding up her Chippewa boots.

“Thanks, baby,” Nicole says softly.

“Take a chill pill,” Waverly says. She softens. “You’re going to blow your top before we even get in the car.”

Nicole slides into her boots and laces them carefully. She spent all morning ironing her shirt and jeans and polishing the buckle on her belt and her boots. She’d drawn the line at a spit-shine, but only because Waverly stopped her. 

“It’s the  _ country club _ ,” Nicole had said.

“Which we’ve been to  _ plenty _ of times,” Waverly countered.

“But never with my dad.” Nicole had sighed and handed over the shoe polish. “Fine. I’ll stop.”

Waverly waved her off. “Go. Go take a walk. Go listen to music. There’s  _ hours _ until dinner, and you’re driving me crazy.”

Nicole had hesitated. “But you’re only home for-”

“Oh, you’re making it up to me,” Waverly said firmly. “I’m going to finish unpacking all these boxes.” She pointed to the cardboard boxes stacked on one side of the long living room space. “And rearrange your bathroom, because  _ none _ of what you set up makes sense to normal human beings, and then next weekend, you’re going to drive up and see me.” Waverly held up a hand when Nicole opened her mouth to speak. “Don’t. I already saw the shift schedule, and you’re not on.” She glided forward, tugging at the shiny buckle of Nicole’s belt. “And we’re not going to leave the bed for the  _ whole _ weekend.”

Nicole gulped and nodded wordlessly. 

Waverly smoothes down the end of her dress and takes a deep breath. “Now, Gus has Styx downstairs for the night, and we are going to dinner.”

Nicole nods slowly. “Do you think Gus’ll be okay with him?”

Waverly rolls her eyes. “Of course he will be.”

“It’s just that he-”

“Nicole,” Waverly says sharply.

“Right.” Nicole gives Waverly a hesitant smile. “I’m a disaster, right?”

Waverly sighs and nods, moving closer to Nicole. She wraps her fingers around Nicole’s belt buckle, mirroring her earlier move, and tugs until Nicole leans down. She kisses Nicole slowly, pulling away with Nicole’s bottom lip between her own before it slides away with a  _ pop _ . “At least you’re a total bohunk.”

Nicole pushes halfheartedly at Waverly. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” Waverly teases, She kisses Nicole again.

“You called Champ that,” Nicole mumbles against Waverly’s lips.

Waverly wrinkles her nose. “Jealous?”

“Yes,” Nicole breathes. “All the time.”

“I know.” Waverly’s hands flatten against Nicole’s hips. “You didn’t hide it well.”

Nicole rolls her eyes. “And you did?”

Waverly pulls back. “Excuse me?”

“Every time Samantha Baker came within ten feet of me, your hairspray almost ignited.” Nicole nods when Waverly starts to shake her head. “It’s true.”

“Whatever,” Waverly mutters. “Let’s go to dinner, please?”

Nicole nods. “Okay. Okay.” She starts down the stairs, waiting as Waverly locks the door to their apartment.  _ Our apartment _ , Nicole thinks, her stomach fluttering. She hollers a goodbye through the screen as she stomps past the back kitchen door. She thinks she hears Styx yipping, but Waverly is waiting at the door of her car, bouncing in her heels. Nicole pauses, her hand on the door. “You look really clutch,” she says. “I didn’t tell you that before.”

Waverly smoothes down the end of her dress again. “Thank you.”

Nicole pulls the door open and sweeps an arm across the seat. “After you.”

Waverly grins at her and slides across the bench seat, stopping in the middle. She reaches for the glove compartment, pulling out Aerosmith’s  _ Permanent Vacation _ . They sing along to “Heart’s Done Time” as Nicole navigates through Purgatory. For a moment, she forgets that she’s headed to dinner with her dad and his new family; that she’ll be sitting at the same dinner table as him for the first time in almost fourteen years. 

Waverly turns the radio down. “Does your mom know about it?”

Nicole nods; she didn’t hide it from her. “She’s okay with it. She told me she’s ‘made her peace’ with him, or whatever. And that it was time for me to make mine.”

Waverly smiles. “Good.” She slides closer, her hand curling over Nicole’s knee.

Nicole grins and stretches her arm across the back of the seat, her fingertips brushing against Waverly’s shoulder. She pulls into the parking lot of the country club, wincing as her Bonneville settles in between two ‘94 Lincoln Town Cars, both jet black. She gets out of the car and offers Waverly her hand, dropping it as she spots her dad’s Mercedes Benz C-Class a few spots over.

“Loverboy!” Mercedes shouts, standing at the trunk of the Benz. Nathan mumbles something in her ear and Mercedes frowns, rolling her eyes at him. 

Nicole smiles sheepishly at Mercedes. “You really need to find another nickname for me.”

“Whatever happened to Princess?” her dad asks, coming up behind her. He frowns as he looks over her outfit, his eyes lingering on her Chippewa boots. 

“I never liked that name,” Nicole mutters. 

Her dad ignores her, clapping a large hand down on Nathan’s shoulder. “Hey, Sport. You look good. You look really good.”

Nicole catches Mercedes’s eye and makes a face. “He looks like a trained monkey.”

Nathan adjusts his sports coat, just a little too big in the shoulders. It looks like something Mercedes’s dad would wear; Nathan likes t-shirts and blue jeans. Sometimes, he’ll wear a polo shirt if Mercedes wants him to, but  _ sports coats _ are not his style. 

“You didn’t wear flannel,” Nathan fires back. “I’m shocked.”

Nicole puffs her chest out a little bit, but her dad cuts in.

“Filling out a little, though, huh?” He smacks a hand against Nathan’s stomach with a laugh.

Nathan winces. “Well, I’m not playing sports anymore.”

“That reminds me,” her dad says loudly. He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and rifles through it, trying to find something. “Ah ha!” He flourishes a business card and presses it into Nathan’s hand. “A surgeon in the States. He can fix that knee.”

Nathan frowns. “It’s already fixed,” he says slowly.

“Well, it’s not if you can’t even put roller skates on.” Her dad gives Nathan a wide grin, oblivious to the growing anger in Nathan’s eyes. Nicole can see it, though, swirling. “You get a decent doctor, and you’ll be on your feet in no time,” her dad continues.

Nicole moves forward, a hand flat against Nathan’s chest. It’s the same thing she did that night she pulled him out of a bar in Abee, half out of his mind and doused in whisky. She’d backed him out of the bar, a hand flat against his chest, and into the back of a truck she borrowed from the garage. He’d been too drunk and too high to fight her or to get up once the truck was moving, flying down the highway. Nathan startles now, like he didn’t then, and the split second is enough for Nicole to get a step ahead of him, putting some distance between Nathan and her dad.

“You’re fine, Nate,” she says under her breath. “Just remember that-”

“Anger is acid,” Nathan finishes. He makes a face. “That’s a stupid saying.”

“Works,” Nicole says, shrugging. “Got you to stop being angry, didn’t it?”

“No,” Nathan says gruffly. “I’m just better at hiding it than I used to be.”

Nicole pats his cheek. “That still means it’s working.”

“What are we waiting for?” Susan asks, coming up next to them. Bridget skips next to her. “Did you make a reservation?” She looks at Nicole’s dad.

Her dad shrugs. “I called ahead, but they don’t take reservations. The woman laughed, actually.”

Susan sniffs. “I see.”

Nicole rolls her eyes. Waverly steps up next to her, her body tense against Nicole’s. Mercedes moves forward smoothly. “It won’t be a problem,” she says lightly. “I know the club president.”

Nathan smiles proudly. “That’s my girl.”

Nicole snorts. “Your  _ dad _ is the club president,” she points out as they start walking to the front door of the club.

Mercedes looks back over her shoulder and winks. “So you do pay attention to me, Loverboy.”

Nicole feels her cheeks flush again and she looks away. She catches her dad’s eye and he looks at her expectantly. “What?” she asks.

He ignores her. “That’s right, Mercedes. You’re a Gardner.”

“Only by name,” Mercedes mutters.

The topic dies and they stand in silence for another moment before her dad clears his throat. “It’s nice to see you again, Waverly,” he says, barely glancing at her. “I just thought that you’d bring your boyfriend.”

Waverly coughs loudly.

Nicole frowns. “What?”

“Well, there was that greasy looking fellow at The Patch with you,” her dad says, frowning back at her. “With the moustache and his hair slicked back?” 

Mercedes laughs loudly. “Doc?” She clutches Nathan’s arm, holding herself up. “Nicole and  _ John Henry _ ?”

“Or that handsome Asian boy,” Susan asks.

Nathan laughs now. “That’s Perry. You remember Perry, Dad?”

Her dad grins. “Of course I do. Boy had an arm like a cannon.” His smile fades as he turns to Nicole. “So, no boyfriend?”

Nicole takes a deep breath. “That’s actually…” She trails off and looks to Waverly.

Waverly smiles widely at her, nodding.

Nicole swallows past the fear building in her throat. It tastes like the fluffernutter she had for lunch. “I brought Waverly,” she says, the words sticking like peanut butter to her teeth.

“That’s nice,” her dad says slowly, confused. “I had just assumed you’d bring someone…  _ important _ . That’s all.”

The fear in her throat is replaced with a burning, white-hot anger. It bubbles inside of her, and she doesn’t realize her hand is clenched tightly into a fist until the edge of a nail she cut earlier pierces the side of her hand. 

“Waverly  _ is _ important,” she spits.

Her dad sighs. “Well, that’s not what I-”

“She’s the  _ most _ important person in my life,” Nicole continues over him. She steps forward, her boot stomping into the half-gravel, half-dirt lot. “I  _ love _ her.”

Her dad rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Nicole-”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Nicole says, the words spilling out of her mouth like a truck with no brakes. “Nathan brought Mercedes, and you said to bring someone  _ important _ , so I brought  _ my _ girlfriend.”

“Your  _ what _ ?” Her dad’s voice is sharp and clear and  _ angry _ . 

Nicole’s eyes narrow. “My girl-”

“Go inside,” her dad says tightly. He’s still staring at Nicole, his eyes unwavering, but he’s speaking to Susan. 

“Come on,” Susan says to Bridget, her voice honey-sweet. She nods towards the door. “Honey, we’ll just get a table and wait for you.”

Her dad doesn’t even look at Susan.

Susan grabs Bridget’s hand, tugging insistently. “Come on, sweetheart.” She turns her smile on Nathan. “Nathan, why don’t you get the door.”

Nathan hesitates, but takes a step forward. Mercedes grabs his arm, stopping him in place and looking pointedly at Nicole.

Nicole swallows hard and forces a smile, eyes still on her dad. “Go ahead, Nathan,” she says, her voice shaking. “We’ll be there in a minute.”

“Go on, Sport,” her dad echoes. 

Nathan takes another step towards the door, but Mercedes tightens her grip on his elbow. “I don’t think-”

“Mercedes,” Nicole says. “It’s okay.” She finally looks away from her dad, and gives Mercedes a shaky smile. “I’ll be inside in just a minute.”

Waverly crosses her arms over her chest and raises an eyebrow pointedly. She’s not going anywhere.

The heavy door of the country club closes softly behind Mercedes and Nathan, Susan and Bridget already marching down the carpeted hallway to the front desk. Nicole watches the latch activate and breathes evenly through her nose, turning back to look at her dad.

He’s red in the face, his eyes like slits. “You want to try that again?” he asks, his voice too calm.

Nicole swallows. “Try what?”

He laughs suddenly. The noise catches Nicole off guard, and she takes a careful step back, her hand at her hip where her holster would be. She moves so she’s standing in front of Waverly; so she can feel Waverly’s shoulder against her own. There’s something different about his eyes now - the anger is gone and there’s a calm in them she’s seen once before.

It’s the same look he had when he found out she’d knocked out Tucker Gardner.

“He’s a goddamn  _ Gardner _ ,” he had yelled. 

“Neil,” her mom tried.

“No, Joan. A Gardner. She punched a  _ Gardner _ .” He rounded on Nicole, and she shrank back against the kitchen chair she was sitting in. “Where did you even learn how to throw a punch?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “I bet it was McCready.”

The tape Curtis bought her burned hot in her pocket. She held her hand over it, hoping to hide it from him.

“She spends too much time there,” her dad spat. “She comes home caked in mud, and she talks about music all the time.” He jabbed a finger at the refrigerator where her last spelling test hung. “Her grades are dropping!”

Nicole looked at the test hanging there, at the shiny gold sticker in the corner and the ‘ _ -1 _ ’ next to the word ‘latitude.’ She forgot the second ‘t’ 

“She’s in third grade,” her mom said, frowning.

“It’s the McCreadys and those girls,” her dad continued over her mom. “That older one doesn’t even  _ speak _ . And now they’re teaching her to  _ fight,  _ and-

“You taught me,” she said. She couldn’t listen to him say mean things about Curtis or Wynonna anymore. “You taught me how to throw a punch.”

Her dad frowned. “I did not.”

Nicole bit down on her bottom lip. “When you taught Nathan, I was… I was listening, too.”

Her mom rounded on her dad. “You taught Nathan how to throw a punch?”

Her dad shrugged her off. “That Byers kid is always giving him a hard time. He needs to learn to defend himself.”

“Tucker made fun of Waverly’s parents!” she shouted. She stood up so quickly, her chair fell over.

“Sit down,” her dad said, his voice low.

“He said she couldn’t keep her parents, but that’s not her fault.”

“Sit  _ down _ ,” he repeated, his voice too calm.

“And he kept stealing her juice, and -”

Her dad brought his hand down on the kitchen table, hard enough to crack the edge.

Nicole jumped, her eyes wide, and moved back, almost tripping over the chair on the floor. She picked it up and sat down quickly, her hands under her thighs. 

“Take a walk, Neil,” her mom said, stepping in front of Nicole. She thought her dad opened his mouth, but her mom moved forward, forcing him back. “Take. A. Walk.”

Nicole shields Waverly now, taking a step forward to force her dad back.

“Waverly is not your girlfriend,” her dad says. He laughs. “That’s ridiculous.”

Nicole feels her body sagging down, ready to let it go, but then Waverly is there, a hand against the small of her back, steadying her. 

“And your mother knows about this?”

Nicole nods. 

“And Nathan? Mercedes?”

Nicole swallows and nods again.

Her dad scoffs. “This is bullshit.”

“Wh-what?”

Waverly’s hand twitches against her back.

“Bullshit,” her dad spits again. “You’re confused.”

Nicole steps back into Waverly, frowning. “I’m not confused.”

“You are,” her dad says, confident. 

Nicole starts to shake her head. “No. I’m not. I was confused  _ before _ Waverly. Songs didn’t make sense, and once Fish tried to hold my hand, but it was weird and clammy.”

“Fish?” Waverly asks.

Nicole looks over her shoulder. “Not important right now.”

“Right,” Waverly says, giving her a sheepish smile.

Her dad is still shaking his head. “No. See, I knew about a kid in high school. He was older than me. Wright. Wright something. He was confused, too. But his dad did the right thing and married him off.”

“Cecil Wright, Jr.?” Waverly asks. “He was-”

“Wrong,” her dad finishes firmly. “His brain was all scrambled. They fixed him right, see?” He softens his voice, looking at Nicole. “You can come home with me, okay? I’ll find the right people. And my business partner, he has a son a few years older than you. He’s single, I think.” Her dad nods to himself. “You’ll see. We leave tomorrow, and you’ll come with us, and-”

“No,” Nicole says.

“I have an extra bedroom you can use for the time being, and then you-”

“ _ No _ ,” Nicole shouts. She looks down, staring at the cuff of her sleeve just below her elbow. The sleeves on her shirt wouldn’t roll right the first time. She should have known, when she rolled them and they came out sloppy and uneven, that everything was going to go wrong. 

Everything is  _ wrong _ . 

But  _ she’s _ not wrong. 

“No,” Nicole repeats, her voice softer. “I’m not going  _ anywhere _ .”

Her dad laughs, the sound hollow. “Yes, you are.”

“I’m not. This is my  _ home _ .” She steps forward and Waverly’s hand falls off her back. “And I’m not leaving it.”

“You’ll do as I-”

“Why?” Nicole spits. “You haven’t been here. You don’t know me. I was  _ terrified _ to love Waverly. I was afraid of what people would say, and how they would act around me, and you know what?” She looks back at Waverly. “No one gives a shit.”

“This whole fucking town,” her dad swears. “I’ve always hated this fucking town.”

“This was your home, too,” Nicole reminds him.

Her dad snorts. “A town full of idiots? Of  _ schmucks _ like Curtis McCready?”

“Don’t you  _ talk _ about him,” Nicole hisses, moving forward. Her dad takes a step back, his legs bumping against the car behind him. “Don’t you say his name.”

“So he approved of this, did he?” Her dad shakes his head. “Backwards, hick, hole of a town-”

“He  _ loved _ me,” Nicole says, her throat burning. “He loved me. Which is more than I could  _ ever _ say for you.”

Her dad’s eyes soften a little. “But I could love you, Nicole. If you just got on the right track.”

Nicole laughs, the noise catching in her throat and building into a sob. “You know what? I’ve  _ always _ been on the right track. I’ve always kept everyone  _ else _ on the right track.” Waverly’s hand is back, rubbing small circles against her hip. “And everyone in this town loves me for exactly who I am.”

“What’s that?” her dad asks. “A  _ cop _ ? A-a homosexual?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Nicole says, her stomach in knots and her chest tight.

Her dad sighs wearily. “Listen,” he says, his voice soft. “We can fix this, can’t we? You take a week to get all your loose ends tied up, and I’ll fly back out here for you, okay? You can come live with me and Susan and Bridget. We can fix this together, Princess.”

Nicole takes three quick steps forward, stopping just in front of her dad’s face. “ _ Don’t _ call me that,” she growls. “You can take your family dinner and  _ can it _ .”

“If that’s how you want to act, if this is how you want to live your life, then you know what? You’re dead to me,” her dad spits, his anger raging again. “You hear me?  _ Dead _ .”

Nicole laughs, hiccuping around her tears. “You know what’s funny? You’ve been dead to me for so long, that I don’t even care.”

Her dad turns and storms up the stairs, slamming the heavy door behind him. 

Nicole pants, her chest rising and falling in sticky breaths. 

Waverly rests a hand over Nicole’s hand, clenched into a fist. “Give me those,” Waverly says gently. She peels the keys out of Nicole’s hands, rubbing the pad of her thumb across the angry red line the keychain left behind. “Come on, baby.”

Nicole lets Waverly pull her along, her feet tripping over loose gravel and curb ends. She feels her hip against the car; Waverly’s hands at her arms; the cool vinyl bench seat against her back where her shirt rides up; the rumbles of the engine as it turns over; the goosebumps that dust her arm as Waverly winds down the window. She can feel the pinpricks of Waverly’s nails against her thigh as Waverly pulls out of the parking lot. She closes her eyes and tries to breathe.

“Baby,” Waverly says softly after a minute.

They’re on Main Street now; Nicole feels the turns under her feet.

“Not-” The words catch in Nicole’s throat. “Not now, okay?”

“Okay,” Waverly whispers back. The car slows; they’re getting near The Patch.

“Can we… Can we just drive?” Nicole asks, her head falling back against the top of the seat. She can feel Waverly squeeze her leg,  _ yes _ . “And can…” She takes a deep breath, feeling it break somewhere in her lungs. “Can we turn the music off for a while.”

Waverly cranks the radio dial hard to the left, turning down Aerosmith’s “Rag Doll.”

“Of course we can,” Waverly says.

The car accelerates, the wind roaring in her ears. They’re on Rt. 81 now. Her cheeks are cold, her tear-tracks drying. The wind whistles loudly as they keep speeding up. Over it, she can hear Waverly’s voice.

“Where to?”

Nicole drops her hand over Waverly’s, their fingers sliding together easily.  _ This can’t be wrong _ , she thinks.  _ It’ll never be wrong _ . She tries to breathe in, but her throat feels full, her collar too tight. She tugs hard at the fabric, her fingers slipping over the buttons before she gets the top three undone. Air presses through her body in a rush, and she gasps, the sound swallowed up in the breeze.

“Away,” Nicole whispers. Waverly’s hand twitches in hers. “Just… away.”

Waverly presses harder on the gas pedal, and they rocket past the ‘Now Leaving Purgatory’ sign, a silent bullet in the night.

 

-

Nicole balances the box in her hands carefully as she moves through The Patch. She knows Gus and Waverly and Wynonna are sitting at the counter, eyes following her as she crosses the dining room. She can hear the creak of the stool spin as they turn to watch her get closer to the door.

“Baby, do you-”

Nicole shakes her head sharply. “I’ll do it.”

“Okay,” Waverly says quietly. “We’re right here, when you’re done.”

Nicole keeps walking, moving around tables and chairs. They’d driven back into Purgatory late, the streetlights off. Main Street was a sea of neon lights, and she hadn’t breathed easier until they passed under the ones above Shorty’s and the blue and pink washed over Waverly’s face. Waverly parked her car behind the dumpster, and Nicole had stormed back into her apartment, tugging at the collar of her shirt so hard that the top button popped off and jumped across the hardwood floors.

She’d ripped the box of tapes her dad left behind out from under her bed, dumping them onto the comforter and standing over them, her chest rising and falling too quickly. Waverly had caught up with her just as she popped open the first cassette case, a pencil in one hand.

“What’re you doing?” Waverly asked carefully.

“Unspooling them,” Nicole said, her back teeth grinding together.

Waverly’s hands covered hers. “Baby, stop.”

“These are his. I’ve kept them in this damn box for  _ forever, _ and for what?” She pulls her hands away and picks up a tape, sticking a pencil in the tape reel.

Waverly takes the tape away from her, moving Nicole away from the bed. “Just stop, okay? Stop.”

Waverly sat her down on the couch and moved around her: opening a beer and cleaning up the tapes, alphabetizing them with a small smile; finding pajamas and slowly working Nicole’s shirt off her shoulders; peeling back the comforter and tucking her into bed. Waverly crawled in after her, pulling Nicole into her arms and letting her cry until she fell asleep.

Waverly was gone when Nicole woke up this morning - taking Styx for a walk after picking him up from Gus, her note said. She called an hour later, and told Nicole she’d be downstairs at the counter when Nicole felt like coming down.

Instead, Nicole had stayed in her pajamas and stared out the front window, watching the cars go up and down Main Street. Just before lunch, she saw her dad’s Benz pull down Main and stop in front of The Patch. Something had broken inside of her, snapping like an old tape ribbon, and she was moving through the apartment, pulling on jeans and a white shirt and her shoes without socks, the box of tapes in her hands.

The bell chimes above her as she pushes through it. Her dad looks up, rearranging the bags in the trunk of his car.

“Nicole,” he says.

“Don’t,” Nicole says sharply. 

His eyes flash.

“Here,” she says tightly. She shoves the box forward.

It rattles loudly as it settles against her dad’s chest. “What is this?” he asks, frowning. He lifts the lid on the box and his frown deepens. “Tapes?”

“Yours,” Nicole manages. She clears her throat. “You… You left them behind. You know, when you left  _ us _ .” She looks up and meets his eyes. “It was all I had of you, you know. I shoved the box under my bed, and it stayed there for years, but I moved out of Mom’s, and I…” She trails off and shakes her head. “I don’t need them anymore.”

She doesn’t  _ want _ them anymore. It’s the last remaining link to her dad, and she wanted to burn them, to set them on fire, to unspool them and break the ribbons in front of his face. But she thinks there’s something poetic about giving them back in mint condition, in exactly the same shape he left them with her in. 

“Nicole,” he tries again.

“You know what?” she asks, her voice breaking. “They say you’re never supposed to meet your heroes. That it ruins everything.”

He sighs. “I’m-”

“Good thing you were never mine.”

Nicole walks back into The Patch, sighing as the bell above her chimes. Van Halen is on the jukebox, and there’s a tall, fresh milkshake in front of the empty stool next to Waverly. She slides onto the seat and leans her forehead against Waverly’s shoulder, taking the first deep breath that doesn’t hurt. A hand lands on her shoulder and she turns her head, still leaning against Waverly, to smile crookedly at Wynonna.

“Hey, Five-O.”

“Hey,” Nicole mutters.

“I’m proud of you.” Wynonna pokes her in the face.

Nicole winces. “Thanks?”

“But it still would have been better if you had punched him,” Wynonna continues.

Gus leans over the counter and smacks Wynonna in the side of the head. “Hush, you.” She smiles at Nicole. “I’m real proud of you, girl.” She hooks a thumb over her shoulder at the picture on the mirror - Curtis and Wynonna and Waverly and Nicole, all grinning for the camera. “He would be, too.”

Nicole swallows hard, her eyes starting to burn.

“He would have been proud if she punched that motherfu-”

“Language,” Gus and Waverly say at the same time.

Wynonna rolls her eyes. “I think, if there’s any time I get to say that word, it’s  _ today _ .”

Gus opens her mouth to argue, but sighs instead. “Fine. Go ahead.”

Wynonna’s eyes light up. “Really?” She doesn’t wait for Gus to take it back. “That  _ motherfucker _ .” 

Gus rolls her eyes. “Do you feel better now?”

Wynonna sighs dramatically, her body sagging. “Much.” She elbows Nicole. “Do you?”

“No,” Nicole says flatly.

Wynonna frowns and pushes the milkshake closer to Nicole. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

Nicole sighs, but sits up and grabs for the shake, sucking down some of the ice cream. It’s cool and sweet and she hates Wynonna just a little bit, but she can feel it sliding down her throat and into her stomach, and somehow, it does help.

Wynonna grins proudly.

“I hope I never see him again,” Nicole breathes.

Waverly’s body goes tense. “He better  _ hope _ I never see him again.”

“Fuck him,” Gus says.

Nicole looks at her, eyes wide. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Say it again,” Wynonna pleads. “Please, say it again.”

Gus ignores her. She reaches over the counter, her hands resting on top of Nicole’s. “You listen to me, Nicole Haught. That man has never, and will never, define your worth. The people who love you do.”

“People like us,” someone says from behind her. A hand slides across Nicole’s shoulders, and her mom kisses the side of her head. “Hey, baby.”

Nicole leans back into her mom’s arms. “Hi.”

“Proud of you,” her mom whispers.

Nicole snorts. “Did you guys all read the same pamphlets or something?” she asks.

Gus puts a coffee mug down on the counter and slides it towards her mom. “Here, Joan.”

Her mom takes it, sipping off the top. She’s still in her uniform, and she probably came straight from the hospital. “He’s lucky he left town before I got ahold of him.” She kisses the side of Nicole’s head again, her lips coffee-warm. “I’m so, so sorry, baby.”

“It’s okay,” Nicole whispers.  _ It’s not _ , a voice in her head says.

“He’s not worth it,” Waverly adds.

Nicole closes her eyes against the burn she can feel building. 

“You can cry, baby,” her mom says softly. “It’s okay to cry.”

“He’s not worth it,” Nicole repeats. She clears her throat and straightens her shoulders and sits up, smiling at Gus and then Wynonna. She can feel Waverly’s hand on her thigh, squeezing gently. Her mom rests a hand on her shoulder. “He’s not worth it.”

She breathes. 


End file.
